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MYSELF  AND  I 


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THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •   BOSTON   •   CHICAGO   •  DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON   •  BOMBAY   •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMH^LAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


MYSELF  AND  I 


BY 
H-^     FANNIE  STEARNS  DAVIS 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1913 

All  rigMs  restrvtd 


Cop3mght,  1Q05,  1906,  1908,  1909,  1910,  1911,  I9I3,  1913,  by  The  Ridgeway 
Company,  The  Independent  Weekly,  Inc.,  Lippincott's  Magazine,  The  At- 
lantic Monthly  Company,  Harper  &  Brothers,  The  Century  Company, 
The  Butterick  Publishing  Company,  The  Yale  Review,  The  Curtis  Pub- 
lishing Company,  and  The  Four  Seas  Company. 


Copyright,  1913, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
Set  up  and  clectrotyped.    Published  May,  1913 


PRKSS  OF  T.  HOBBT  &  SOV, 
OBEKNFIKLD,  MASS.,  V.  S.  A. 


TO 


274098 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Joy  from  Little  Things i 

Myself  and  I      ........        2 

The  Forbidden  Lure 8 

The  Moods 10 

A  Ballad  of  Return 12 

Day IS 

The  Rebel 17 

Wood  Wandering 19 

The  Ends  of  the  Earth 21 

Up  a  Hill  and  a  Hill 23 

Rainy  Weather 24 

The  Dead  Folk -      ^1 

0  Strong  Desires .29 

Tall  Lilac-Tree  Beside  My  Door     .        .  -31 

The  Silent  Day 33 

Soul  vs.  Body -35 

1  Lay  Beneath  the  Apple-Tree  .        .  -37 
Beyond  Recall  ......                 .40 

The  Doors 42 

Song,  After  Sorrow 44 

The  City's  Cry 45 

Beneath  the  Wall 47 

Over  the  City,  Night 49 

To  Other  Small  Verse-Makers  .         .        .51 

The  Dream-Self 52 

Souls  - 55 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Origins        .        .        . $6 

The  Nights 60 

Faith 62 

Gipsy  Feet 64 

Singing 67 

Dawn-Dream 68 

Hill-Fantasy .  70 

Warning -75 

My  House 77 

Free             81 

A  Sea-Spell 83 

Nocturne  (For  Music)        : 84 

Heart  o'  The  Wood 85 

Water-Fantasy 87 

The  Glad  Day  -ft 90 

Earth-Bound 93 

-f     ^  The  Secret  Thing     ' 95 

Oh  Never  Shut  Your  Door  on  Me   ....  96 

Years 98 

V  To  Lonely  Youth       .f 99 

I  Went  to  Seek  Her 102 

The  Red  Road 103 

"  Not  for  Your  Sakes 105 

Comrades    ............  107 

Silence 108 

After  Copying  Goodly  Poetry no 

The  Hermit  on  the  Dunes         .         .         .         .         .112 

The  Songs  of  Conn  the  Fool 121 


MYSELF  AND  I 


A  JOY  FROM  LITTLE  THINGS 

To  press  a  joy  from  little  things,  — 

From  feet  that  fall  in  time, 
From  daylong  silent  f ashionings 

Of  some  heart-hidden  rhyme,  — 

From  shapes  of  leaves  and  clouds  and  snow, 

From  others'  brighter  eyes. 
From  thinking,  ''I  am  dull,  I  know. 

But  some  are  glad  and  wise,"  — 

From  love  remembered,  though  too  dim 

For  laughter  or  for  tears, 
One  fragile  flame,  too  pale  and  slim 

To  gleam  on  grayer  years,  — 

That  is  one  way  of  Joy,  I  know. 

Yet  I  desire,  desire. 
To  go  the  way  a  god  might  go 

Through  Love  and  Life  and  Fire! 


MYSELF  AND  I 

Myself  and  I  went  wandering  to-day. 

We  walked  the  long  white  webbed  roads  away, 

Saw  much  green  marsh-land,  much  blue  splendid 

sea. 
The  wind  was  happy  with  Myself  and  me. 

Now  we  had  read  a  book  whose  burden  blew 
With  a  brave  honest  air  of  being  true. 
It  said,  *' Express  Thyself,  Thyself  alway. 
True  to  Thyself,  thou  canst  not  go  astray. 
Ask  of  the  inner  Voice,  the  inner  Light, 
And  heaven-clear  shall  be. thine  outer  sight. 
Obey,  —  and  thou  shalt  always  seek  and  find 
God  in  the  clay,  the  Spirit  on  the  wind." 

So  said  I,  "To  Myself  I  will  be  true. 
Speak  on,  Myself,  what  I  to-day  shall  do." 
Myself,  thereat  rejoicing,  crowed  aloud. 
We  were  elate  as  angels  on  a  cloud! 


MYSELF  AND  I  3 

The  day  was  ours.    Myself  with  merry  mien 
Said,   "Thou  shalt  wear  thy  gown  of  shoal-sea 

green : 
Thy  curious  gown,  and  plaited  in  thy  hair 
Grasses  and  glistering  sea-weeds  dank  and  rare. 
To-day  thou  shalt  a  mermaid-creature  be, 
And  skip  along  the  surges  of  the  sea." 

Then  I  must  labor  with  Myself.    "Indeed 

I  love  the  green  gown  and  the  wreathed  weed. 

But  every  one  would  turn  and  stare  at  me 

As  I  ran  down  the  marshes  to  the  sea! 

And  if  beside  the  surf  alone  I  go, 

What  strange  bad  folk  may  meet  me  there?    Dost 

know?  — 
O,  dear  Myself,  such  joys  we  cannot  take, 
Or  every  tongue  will  wag  and  head  will  shake!" 

Myself,  demurring,  yet  did  give  consent. 
Discreetly  garbed,  on  sober  roads  we  went. 

The  wind  came  up  from  out  the  gleaming  west. 
And  shook  the  poplar  trees,  and  downward  pressed 
The  bright  gray-headed  grasses,  and  the  bay 
Bristled  its  blue  hair  like  a  hound.   Straightway 


4  MYSELF  AND  I 

Myself,  long  throbbing  in  my  throat,  cried  out, 
*'Run  with  the  wind!  oh,  race  with  him  and  shout! 
Sing  to  the  sun!  be  merry  as  the  grass! 
Now  all  the  gladness  of  the  earth  doth  pass. 
Thou  wouldst  not  be  my  wild  green  mermaid- thing, 
But  oh,  I  prithee,  laugh,  and  run,  and  sing! " 

Then  must  I  labor  with  Myself.    "But  lo. 
Along  the  road  much  people  pass  us.    No.  — 
If  I  should  sing  and  run,  to-morrow  we 
In  durance  with  the  Crazy  Folk  might  be, 
Wouldst  thou,  strait-jacketted,  be  fain  to  sing? 
O,  dear  Myself,  ask  not  so  mad  a  thing!" 

Upon  a  porch  with  scarlet  vines  overrun 

A  darling  baby  tottered  to  the  sun. 

With  little  cooing  cries  he  greeted  us. 

"  See!  "  said  Myself,  ''  He  is  more  glorious 

Than  all  the  sun.     Go  up  and  kiss  him,  thou. 

He  is  more  sweet  than  bloom  on  any  bough." 

Then  must  Ilabor  with  Myself .    "But  stay! 
His  mother  by  the  lattice  hid  away 
Doth  watch  him.    She  will  hate  me  if  I  dare 
To  touch  him.    Look,  already  doth  she  stare 


MYSELF  AND  I  5 

Because  we  loiter  by  the  little  wall. 
Myself,  that  was  the  maddest  thing  of  all. " 

Myself  made  outcry.    "Shame!  thou  hast  not  done 

Of  all  the  things  I  bid  a  single  one. 

If  to  Thyself  thou  art  not  ever  true, 

How  shall  the  eyes  of  God  come  piercing  through 

This  masked  world?" 

I  had  no  answer  pat. 
Myself  had  caught  me,  I  admitted  that:  — 
And  to  atone,  I  swore  by  wind  and  sky 
To  do  Myself 's  next  bidding,  should  I  die! 

Myself  triumphant,  I  not  too  content, 
Down  divers  white  and  sunny  ways  we  went. 

All  suddenly  across  the  curving  road 
A  youth  as  tall  as  plumy  Hector  strode; 
As  tall,  as  brave  in  fashion.    Faith,  he  seemed 
A  hero-shape  some  epic  minstrel  dreamed ! 
With  proud  high  step  and  level  sea-blue  eyes, 
He  looked  a  god  on  gallant  enterprise. 

Up  leapt  Myself.    "Oh,  make  him  turn  thy  way! 
Stumble,  or  swoon!  oh,  somehow  make  him  stay! 


6  MYSELF  AND   I 

Thy  blood  and  his  are  kin,  thy  heart  doth  beat. 
Surely,  ah  surely,  he  would  find  thee  sweet! 
Let  him  not  pass,  he  is  so  brave  to  see!  "  — 
He  passed.    I  know  not  if  he  glanced  at  me. 

Then  must  I  truly  labor  with  Myself. 

I  said,  ^'O  vain,  preposterous!  Thou  elf, 

Thou   wicked   witch,    thou    monstrous   mischief, 

thou 
Consummate  little  mock  at  conscience,  how 
Dost  thou  expect  obedience  to  such 
Unseemly  promptings?    I  have  borne  too  much. 
Out  on  thee  (yet  I  love  thee) !    Now  be  still. 
God  help  me  if  I  work  thy  naughty  will." 

At  eve  Myself  and  I  came  home.    That  book 
Down  from  its  high  and  portly  place  we  took. 
And  read,  "Express  Thyself,  Thyself  alway. 
True  to  Thyself,  thou  canst  not  go  astray." 
—  I  looked  Myself  between  the  dancing  eyes : 
They  dazzled  me,  they  were  so  wild  and  wise. 
"Myself,"  I  said,  "art  thou  a  naughtier  one 
Than  any  other  self  beneath  the  sun? 
Or  why,  why,  why,  —  could  I  not  once  obey 
Thine  innocent  glad  bidding,  all  this  day?" 


MYSELF  AND  I  7 

Myself's  bright  eyes  were  clouded  o'er  with  tears. 
Myself 's  gay  voice  was  dim  as  dust  of  years. 
"Ah/'  said  Myself,  "the  book  is  true.    And  I 
Am  very  naughty  sometimes.    See,  I  cry 
Repentance.    Yet  so  mad  I  needs  must  be 
Or  else  the  world  would  choke  and  smother  me. 
The  world  must  choke  me.    No  more  like  a  faun 
The  Spirit,  running  free,  takes  dusk  and  dawn 
With  earth-simplicity.    Thou  canst  not  do 
These  sudden  happy  things  I  call  thee  to.  — 
And  yet,  young  Puritan,  be  kind  to  me ! 
I  am  more  precious  than  thy  treasury 
Of  maxims.    Yes,  deny  me  often.    Go 
The  sober  road.    Yet  always  deep  below 
Thy  silent  days,  remember,  I  am  here, 
Defiant,  singing,  shadowed  not  by  fear 
Of  Change  or  Death.    Remember  me,  although 
I  am  so  wild,  and  wanton  with  thee  so.  — 
For  I,  though  all  the  world  throw  stones  at  me, 
Am  Light,  am  Voice,  am  God's  own  Spark  in  thee!" 

We  laid  the  great  book  back  upon  its  shelf. 
Between  two  tears,  I  smiled  in  at  Myself. 


THE  FORBIDDEN  LURE 

"Leave  all  and  follow,  follow!  " 

Lure  of  the  sun  at  dawn, 
Lure  of  a  wind-paced  hollow, 

Lure  of  the  sun  withdrawn; 
Lure  of  the  brave  old  singing 

Brave  ancient  minstrels  knew; 
Of  dreams  like  sea-fog  clinging 

To  boughs  the  night  sifts  through. 

"Leave  all  and  follow,  —  follow!  " 

The  sun  goes  up  the  day; 
Flickering  wing  of  swallow, 

Blossoms  that  blow  away,  — 
What  would  you,  luring,  luring, 

When  I  must  bide  at  home? 
My  heart  will  break  her  mooring, 

And  die  in  reef -flung  foam! 

Oh,  I  must  never  Usten! 

Call  not  outside  my  door. 
Green  leaves,  you  must  not  gHsten 

Like  water  any  more. 
8 


THE  FORBIDDEN  LURE 

O  Beauty,  wandering  Beauty, 
Pass  by;  speak  not.    For  see, 

By  bed  and  board  stands  Duty 
To  snatch  my  dreams  from  me! 


THE  MOODS 

The  Moods  have  laid  their  hands  across  my  hair: 
The  Moods  have  drawn  their  fingers  through  my 

heart: 
My  hair  shall  never  more  lie  smooth  and  bright, 
But  stir  like  tide-worn  sea-weed,  and  my  heart 
Shall  never  more  be  glad  of  small  sweet  things,  — 
A  wild  rose,  or  a  crescent  moon,  —  a  book 
Of  little  verses,  or  a  dancing  child. 
My  heart  turns  crying  from  the  rose  and  book. 
My  heart  turns  crying  from  the  thin  bright  moon. 
And  weeps  with  useless  sorrow  for  the  child. 
The  Moods  have  loosed  a  wind  to  vex  my  hair. 
And  made  my  heart  too  wise,  that  was  a  child. 

Now  I  shall  blow  like  smitten  candle-flame: 
I  shall  desire  all  things  that  may  not  be:     * 
The  years,  the  stars,  the  souls  of  ancient  men. 
All  tears  that  must,  and  smiles  that  may  not  be,  — 
Yes,  glimmering  lights  across  a  windy  ford, 

zo 


THE  MOODS  II 

And  vagrant  voices  on  a  darkened  plain, 

And  holy  things,  and  out-cast  things,  and  things 

Far  too  remote,  frail-bodied  to  be  plain. 

My  pity  and  my  joy  are  grown  alike. 
I  cannot  sweep  the  strangeness  from  my  heart. 
The  Moods  have  laid  swift  hands  across  my  hair: 
The  Moods  have  drawn  swift  fingers  through  my 
heart. 


A  BALLAD  OF  RETURN 

Behold,  I  have  served  you  a  year  and  a  day, 

But  now  I  am  fain  to  be  going  away.  — 

I  have  bent  my  back  to  the  tasks  ye  set 

And  bound  my  hair  in  a  sober  net: 

I  have  knelt  in  the  kirk  and  tried  to  pray, 

Though  my  thoughts  were  wandering  far  away. 

I  have  given  few  words  to  your  words,  though  ye 

In  God's  own  sight  have  been  good  to  me.  — 

Mistress  and  master  and  children  all, 

I  cry  a  blessing  on  hearth  and  hall. 

May  ye  sleep  in  peace  and  rise  in  the  sun, 

And  an  angel  follow  you  every  one,  — 

But  I,  —  it's  out  from  your  hall  I  go 

Ere  ever  the  morning  star  dips  low. 

For  my  mother  was  born  of  the  gipsy  folk, 
A  child  of  the  wind  and  the  wandering  smoke; 
And  a  braw  brown  sailor  fathered  me, 
Over  across  the  windy  sea. 

la 


A  BALLAD   OF  RETURN  13 

In  a  low-browed  house  by  the  hollow  shore 
I  dreamed  all  night  to  the  breakers^  roar: 
I  danced  all  day  on  the  dunes  that  lie 
Bare  to  the  wind  and  the  driven  sky. 
Ships  and  sea- wrack  and  fog  I  knew 
As  a  hill  knows  the  sun  and  a  rose  the  dew. 

And  when  I  was  grown  to  a  slip  of  a  lass, 
With  eyes  that  widened  to  meet  my  glass, 
'Twas  a  lither  lad  from  the  secret  sea 
Who  drew  the  heart  from  the  side  of  me. 
He  kissed  me  and  gave  me  a  crooked  ring, 
And  bade  me  to  pray  for  his  voyaging. 
Up  the  hill  of  the  terrible  sea, 
Under  the  unknown  stars  sailed  he; 
But  oh,  he  will  come!  he  will  come  to  me! 

My  mother  sleeps  'neath  an  ash-tree,  high 
On  a  craggy  hill  where  the  eagles  cry. 
My  father  lies  drowned  where  the  bitter  seas 
Rage  at  the  roots  of  the  Hebrides. 

I  have  lain  in  a  byre  and  watched  the  lift 

Of  the  first  white  dawn  when  the  Two  Winds  shift, 

And  the  stars  go  pale,  and  the  cattle  stir, 

And  the  sim  calls  "Wake!"  like  a  trumpeter. 


14  A  BALLAD   OF  RETURN 

I  have  hung  in  a  fir-tree's  fork,  and  felt 
The  lightning  stab  and  the  strong  hail  pelt. 
I  have  sailed  all  day  in  the  blank-eyed  mist 
Over  bays  that  the  long  reefs  tear  and  twist. 
And  thrice  I  have  heard  in  the  night  the  cry 
Of  the  Hosts  of  the  Dead  go  by,  go  by: 
Drifting  over  the  Bar  of  Dread, 
Or  riding  over  the  Bridge  of  the  Dead, 
Wrapped  in  fog,  with  their  eyes  as  bright 
As  lost  ships'  lanterns  at  mid  o'  night. 

I  have  served  you  humbly  a  year  and  a  day, 
But  now  I  am  fain  to  be  going  away.  — 

Farewell!  farewell!  for  I  stand  no  more 
In  sunshine  or  starshine  beside  your  door. 
Sea- wrack  and  wind  and  the  wayside  smoke: 
For  my  mother  was  born  of  the  gipsy  folk. 


DAY 

There  is  your  day. 
Up!    Away! 

The  still,  untroubled  forest  stirs. 

The  doves'  nests  in  the  deep  black  firs 

Move  and  pulse  and  beat; 

Quivers  of  leaves,  like  heat. 

Run  down  the  birches'  boughs; 

One  steady  wind-blade  ploughs 

A  furrow  in  the  lake; 

The  small  wild  roses  take 

Sudden  warm  blushes;  all  the  sky 

Grows  into  blue.  —  O  Sun,  come  by! 
The  forest  breathes  and  waits: 
Birds  call  their  mates: 
White  flowers  shake  on  stems: 
Lake  ripples  gleam  like  gems: 
The  morning  star  is  near  to  die :  — 
Sun!    Come  by! 
IS 


1 6  DAY 

You,  sleepy-eyed,  leap  up;  let  slip 
Warm  dreams,  and  make  your  lashes  drip 
With  quick  cold  water.    Eat,  and  pray 
Before  the  sun,  and  laugh,  and  say 
"  God's  joy  be  with  my  world  to-day!  " 

There  is  your  day. 
Up!    Away! 


R 


THE  REBEL 

Find  me  by  the  water-side, 
Find  me  in  the  wood : 

Take  me  as  you  find  me,  quick, 
If  you  find  me  good! 

Oh,  I'm  weary  of  the  way 

Up  the  hill  to  church. 
I  should  like  to  be  the  wind 

In  the  silver  birch: 
I  should  like  to  be  the  stream 

Singing  to  the  sea, 
Or  the  shadows  of  swift  wings, 

Woven  curiously. 
Or  a  rabbit  in  the  brake. 

Or  a  speckled  trout 
In  the  green-and-gloomy-pool 

Lazing  it  about. 

Why  should  such  as  I  abide 

Rusting  like  a  blade 
In  a  mildewed  scabbard?    Oh, 

Wherefore  was  I  made 
17 


1 8  THE  REBEL 

With  such  lusty  lively  feet, 

Such  a  love  of  sky, 
If  I  may  not  run  and  leap? 

If  I  may  not  fly? 

I  am  going  far  away 

From  the  church-crowned  hill: 
Where  the  surf  makes  silence  roar, 

Or  the  leaves  lie  still. 
Follow,  follow,  follow  me! 

Folk  who  know,  as  I, 
That  the  Joy  of  Living  calls 

When  the  wind  goes  by! 

Find  me  by  the  waterside. 

Find  me  in  the  wood: 
Take  me  as  you  find  me,  quick, 

If  you  find  me  good! 


WOOD  WANDERING 

Fairy  o'  the  bean  bloom,  Fairy  o'  the  pea, 

Fairy  o'  the  pink  hedgerose,  show  yourselves  to  me! 

Green  gobUn  o'  the  grass,  limber  lively  lad, 

Fife  up  to  the  wild  feet  that  joy  of  you  drives  mad! 

Down  through  the  garden,  all  across  the  grove. 
Fairy  o'  the  pine-needles,  whither  shall  I  rove  ? 
Neither  hare  nor  deer  am  I,  catamount  nor  snake; 
Just  a  wild-wood-wanderer,  —  and  what's  the  way 
to  take  ? 

River  at  the  foot  of  me,  restless  with  his  rocks. 
Tickled  by  the  white  birch- tree's  long  green  lady- 
locks; 
Cliff  at  my  shoulder;  forest  at  my  back; 
Meadow  deep  with  daisies  —  what  do  I  lack? 

Nothing  in  the  wide  world  save  another  face, 
Save  another  cloven  foot  to  tempt  me  to  a  race. 
Fairy  o'  the  Satyr- wind,  be  visible  to  me! 
Never  man  nor  woman  sees  the  wilding  world  I  see. 

19 


30  WOOD  WANDERING 

Fairy  o*  the  frail  fern,  slender  fairy  girl, 

Fairy  o*  the  thistle-down,  lead  me  all  awhirl! 

You  of  the  water-fall,  you  of  berry-brake, 

You  of  the  wet  green  moss,  show  the  way  to  take! 

What's  the  world  but  green  and  gold?   What's  love 

but  this  — 
Touching  hands  with  tendriled  vines,  giving  air 

your  kiss? 
Who  desires  the  ugly  flesh,  when  his  soul  can  run 
Clean  to  the  world's  caress,  splendid  to  the  sun? 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH 

Oh,  lift  your  feet  and  follow  away 

To  the  bounds  of  the  dark  and  the  ends  of  the  day! 

Heigho!  heigho!  the  Red  Winds  blow, 

And  a  flame  of  a  leaf  down  the  road  doth  go: 

A  coal,  a  spark,  that  dances  away, 

Luring  and  leading  you  out  of  the  day  — 

To  the  hill  that's  black  and  the  sky  that^s  red, 

And  a  great  white  star  set  low  overhead, 

And  a  little  white  moon  like  a  twisted  thread 

Athrill  in  the  web  of  the  well- wrought  red. 

Oh,  lift  your  feet  and  follow  away! 
The  Red  Winds  over  your  shoulder  say: 
"The  Ends  of  the  Earth  lie  far,  lie  far. 
But  close  as  the  hill  to  the  great  white  star; 
The  Ends  of  the  Earth  are  fair  to  find. 
So  red  with  sunset  and  keen  with  wind; 
And  the  spark  of  a  leaf  flies  fast  before, 
Blowing  across  the  world's  wide  floor, 

ax 


2  2  THE  ENDS   OF  THE  EARTH 

Red,  red,  red,  —  oh,  a  sharp-blown  fire! 

And  luring  you  on  like  your  heart's  desire! 

Oh,  lift  your  feet  and  follow  away 

To  the  bounds  of  the  dark  and  the  ends  of  the  day: 

Red,  red,  red,  as  a  flame  are  they!" 

Heigho!  heigho!  the  Red  Winds  blow. 

And  the  rush  of  a  race  to  your  feet  doth  go. 

And  over  the  hill  and  into  the  sky 

You  must  follow  and  follow  the  chasing  cry  — 

Follow  the  spark  to  the  still  white  star. 

To  the  Ends  of  the  Earth,  —  oh  far,  so  far! 

At  the  bounds  of  the  dark  and  the  ends  of  the  day! 

Oh,  lift  your  feet  and  follow  away! 


UP  A  HILL  AND   A  HILL 

Up  a  hill  and  a  hill  there's  a  sudden  orchard-slope, 

And  a  little  tawny  field  in  the  sun; 
There's  a  gray  wall  that  coils  like  a  twist  of  frayed- 
out  rope, 

And  grasses  nodding  news  one  to  one. 

Up  a  hill  and  a  hill  there's  a  windy  place  to  stand, 
And  between  the  apple-boughs  to  find  the  blue 

Of  the  sleepy  summer  sea,  past  the  cliffs  of  orange 
sand. 
With  the  white  charmM  ships  sliding  through. 

Up  a  hill  and  a  hill  there's  a  little  house  as  gray 
As  a  stone  that  the  glaciers  scored  and  stained; 

With  a  red  rose  by  the  door,  and  a  tangled  garden- 
way, 
And  a  face  at  the  window,  checker-paned. 

I  could  climb,  I  could  climb,  till  the  shoes  fell  off  my 
feet. 
Just  to  find  that  tawny  field  above  the  sea! 
Up  a  hill  and  a  hill,  —  oh,  the  honeysuckle's  sweet! 
And  the  eyes  at  the  window  watch  for  me! 
23 


RAINY  WEATHER 

Up  comes  'Bouncing  Bet'  again, 

Pink  and  lusty  in  the  lane. 

Tansy's  odor  keener  is 

Than  all  incense-mysteries. 

Oh,  the  trees! 

How  they  strain 

In  the  driven  windy  rain! 

All  the  marsh-grass  bows  its  head, 

All  the  tide- ways  blur  and  spread, 

And  the  bay 

Is  as  gray 

As  the  roof  o'  the  miller's  shed. 

Up  the  hill  I  run,  together 
With  the  wet  and  windy  weather. 
Hair  in  eyes  and  dripping  cheek,    * 
(Oh,  how  cool  and  soft  and  sleek 
Is  the  hand-touch  of  the  rain!) 
*Bet*  and  I  bounce  up  the  lane. 
24 


RAINY  WEATHER  25 

There  the  Dead  Folk's  decent  rows 
Flank  me,  and  the  church  upstands 
With  its  high  gray  shoulders,  close 
On  the  Dead  Folks'  silent  lands. 

—  Oh,  the  trees, 
How  they  strain! 

Writhe  and  reach  and  fear  the  rain! 

—  'Bet'  and  I  bounce  up  the  lane. 

All  the  houses'  eyes  are  shut. 
Still  are  they  as  Dead  Folk,  but 
Here  a  face  and  there  a  bloom 
Nodding  scarlet  to  the  gloom 
Say  the  Dead  alone  do  lie 
On  the  hill,  against  the  sky. 

Oh,  the  wind,  the  driven  rain! 

How  the  silver  poplars  strain ! 

How  the  world  seems  wide  and  low 

As  along  the  lane  I  blow, 

All  alone,  and  glad  to  be 

For  a  little.    Beat  on  me, 

Wild  wet  weather!  Strike  me,  wind! 

Flare  my  brown  cape  out  behind;  — 

Winged  as  a  gull  I  fly 

All  alone  beneath  the  sky. 


26  RAINY  WEATHER 

Oh,  the  trees, 

How  they  strain ! 

How  they  clamor  and  complain! 

Reckless  in  the  sea-tinged  rain, 

*  Bet '  and  I  bounce  up  the  lane. 


THE  DEAD  FOLK 

The  Dead  Folk  live  in  decent  rows; 

Their  houses  all  are  neat. 
But  through  their  doorways  no  one  goes, 

With  dull  or  dancing  feet. 

The  Dead  Folk  are  a  harmless  host. 

I  have  not  ever  seen 
One  single  cautious,  moon-gray  ghost 

SKp  o'er  the  shadowy  green. 

I  doubt  if  they  are  ever  glad 

Or  sorry;  though  indeed 
It  often  makes  me  still  and  sad 

To  think  they  give  no  heed. 

But  in  a  few  years  more  or  less 

I  shall  not  care  at  all 
How  many  people  peer  and  guess 

Above  the  churchyard  wall. 
27 


28  THE  DEAD   FOLK 

And  when  they  step  about  my  house, 
And  read  my  door-plate,  —  why, 

I  shall  be  quiet  as  a  mouse. 
No  matter  how  they  cry. 

Or  if  too  long  ago  I  went 
Down  yonder  for  their  tears, 

I  do  not  think  I  shall  resent 
The  silence  of  the  years. 

My  body  is  a  curious  thing. 

My  souTs  not  half  so  strange, 
Who  may  go  forth  on  gleaming  wing, 

And  take  no  touch  of  change. 

But  that  my  body  should  lie  still, 

And  never  dance  or  run. 
And  never  climb  a  crooked  hill, 

And  never  see  the  sun,  — 

This  is  a  strange,  strange  thing  to  me; 

And  stranger  yet  it  grows 
Each  time  I  stop  awhile  to  see 

The  Dead  Folk^s  decent  rows. 


O  STRONG  DESIRES 

0  STRONG  desires  that  hurt  the  heart 
With  useless  strife  of  blunted  wings, 

1  weary  of  your  travailings.  — 

Why  must  you  always  surge  and  start 
When  I  am  nearest  happiness? 
Across  the  freedom  of  the  sky 
Like  dazzling  phantom  gods  you  fly; 
And  seeing  you,  my  joy  is  less. 

When  sometimes,  by  an  April  brook. 
Beneath  the  birchen  buds  I  kneel, 
And,  almost  turned  a  Dryad,  feel 
The  thrill  of  that  green  life  which  shook 
Old  woodlands  that  the  Hellenes  knew,  - 
When  every  breath  is  rare  and  good,  — 
There  sweeps  a  shudder  down  the  wood : 
Wild-hearted  wonders  pierce  me  through. 

Or  when  beside  the  hearth  I  lie 
And  listen  to  the  liquid  flame, 
While  One  I  love  most  speaks  my  name, 
And  in  that  peace  my  dreams  all  die,  — 
29 


30  O  STRONG  DESIRES 

Then  from  the  shadow-pools  beyond 
Our  small  red-circled  joy,  there  leap 
Tall  shapes,  fantastical  as  sleep, 
To  call  us  mortal,  helpless,  fond. 
And  blind  my  eyes  with  visions,  vain, 
Enormous,  never  known  on  earth : 
A  longing  for  immortal  mirth 
That  mortal  lips  may  never  stain. 

O  strong  desires!  worthless  wings! 
Star-reachings,  heaven-failings  I  why 
Will  you  remind  me  I  must  die 
To  taste  the  utmost  joyful  things? 


"  TALL  LILAC-TREE  BESIDE  MY  DOOR " 

Tall  lilac-tree  beside  my  door, 

How  many  Mays  for  me 
Shall  you  stand  murmuring  once  more 

In  pale  sweet  ecstasy? 

Deep  meadows,  flushed  and  daisy-drowned, 

How  many  Junes  shall  I 
Among  your  flowery  foam  be  found 

To  hear  your  larks'  long  cry? 

Cold  moon  beyond  my  maple  trees, 

How  often  shall  I  know 
Your  frosty  flashing  mysteries 

Of  silence  and  of  snow? 

And,  little  house  of  hearth  that  thrills, 

And  chambers  cool  and  gray, 
How  old  an  I  shall  sweep  your  sills 

And  wind  your  clocks,  some  day? 
31 


32    "  TALL  LILAC-TREE  BESIDE  MY  DOOR  " 

—  Oh,  there  are  stars  to-night  to  see: 
They  march,  they  burn,  they  sing. 

How  many  nights  of  stars  for  me? 
Oj  stars;  of  wondering  ?  — 


THE  SILENT  DAY 

Yesterday  I  awoke 

With  a  sunward  spirit.    A  bubble 
Of  song  from  my  soul  outbroke. 

I  had  never  heard  of  trouble: 

I  had  never  heard  of  despair: 
And  the  day  was  a  curving  ripple 

Of  windy  musical  air 
And  blossoms  that  toss  and  tipple. 

Yesterday  I  awoke 

With  a  singing  splendor  above  me. 
Even  the  stupidest  folk 

Turned  in  the  street  to  love  me! 

Now  to-day  I  am  still 
As  a  stone  in  a  frosty  river; 

As  a  stone  in  the  heart  of  a  hill, 
Under  grasses  that  hiss  and  shiver. 

33 


34  THE   SILENT  DAY 

No  sun  over  my  way 

Summons  the  world  to  see  me. 
This  is  the  Silent  Day 

When  twinklings  and  tinklings  flee  me. 

Courage,  my  heart,  dead-dumb! 

Hold  thyself  hard  from  aching! 
Silence  is  kind  to  come 

Lest  the  splendor  strain  thee  to  breaking! 


SOUL  VS.  BODY 

Though  Age  is  fifty  years  from  me, 
And  Youth  is  close  to  me  as  breath, 
My  Soul  too  clearly  can  descry 
Whither  my  Body  journeyeth: 
Whither  my  Body  journeyeth: 
A  level  land,  a  sober  land. 
Where  I  shall  walk  with  stumbling  feet 
And  listless  eyes  and  groping  hand: 
Where  I  shall  half  forget  my  name, 
And  stand  an  hour  long,  seeking  it: 
Where  I  shall  freeze,  and  o'er  the  flame 
Half  shuddering,  half  scorched  shall  sit. 
Thither  my  Body  journeyeth. 
Blood,  drop  by  drop,  for  toll  I  pay; 
Though  rich  in  that  red  coin  to-night. 
Youth  wastes  it  bravely  day  by  day. 

But  O  my  Soul,  my  ageless  Soul, 
Already  winged  for  voyaging, 
Why  canst  thou  not  fly  far,  to  Youth, 
35 


36  SOUL  VS.   BODY 

When  Body  grows  a  dreary  thing? 
And  as  to-night  thou  mournest  Age, 
Although  my  Body  laughs  and  leaps, 
Why  canst  thou  not  laugh  up  to  Heaven 
When  Body  aches,  and  numbs,  and  creeps? 

My  Soul!  I  trust  my  joy  to  thee; 
More  strong  art  thou  than  aged  Death! 
With  thee  I  fear  not  to  descry 
Whither  my  Body  journeyeth. 


I  LAY  BENEATH  THE  APPLE-TREE 

I  LAY  beneath  the  apple-tree  and  heard 

The  leaves  at  endless  whisper  in  the  wind; 

Also  there  passed  above  me  many  a  bird, 

Or  perched  and  sang.    Across  my  drowsy  mind 

Flew  sun-and-shadow  vagrancies,  unshaped : 

How  somewhere,  one  might  miss  me,  —  how  the 

wings 
Of  birds  forevermore  escaped,  escaped. 
The  curious  eye  that  watched  their  wanderings,  — 
How  I  was  happier  than  once,  and  yet 
I  had  done  little  service  with  my  life,  — 
(For  I  might  die,  and  all  the  world  forget 
I  ever  stretched  my  hands  for  sport  or  strife), 
How  one  I  knew,  less  old  than  I  had  died 
A  week  ago. 

Where  then  had  journeyed  she? 
No  more  to  hear  the  faint  warm  hours  glide 
With  singing  feet  into  Eternity; 
To  watch  the  apple-branches  blow  and  flash, 
—  No  more.  —  And  then  I  hid  my  face  and  lay 
Half-smothered,  blind.    Dull  as  a  dead  fire's  ash 
Became  the  sunny  glamor  of  the  day. 

37 


38         I  LAY  BENEATH  THE  API>LE-TREE 

For  I  remembered  those  I  loved,  who  passed 
Beyond  the  sunlight  on  the  eastern  pane, 
Beyond  the  snow  and  lightning;  who  at  last 
Ceased   all   their   homely   wonder,  —  '^  Would   it 

rain, 
Or  shine  to-day  —  "  and  laid  their  sorrows  by, 
Even  old  sorrows  with  old  joys,  and  went 
Whither?    Ah,  whither?    Past  the  sun  and  sky? 
Whither?   Ah,  whither?   Proud-souled  or  forspent? 

So  underneath  the  apple-tree  I  lay, 
Half  in  the  body,  half  far- voyaging: 
While    any    folk    who    walked    the    small    foot- 
way 
Had  said  I  slept.    Not  so.    On  troubled  wing 
My  soul  fared  out  and  beat  against  the  blue, 
And  cried  against  the  Gates  of  God  for  light. 
But  nothing  answered,  and  my  soul  withdrew 
Baffled  and  silent  from  her  fruitless  flight. 

And  I  came  home,  along  the  small  foot-way. 
Trailing  my  feet  in  daisy-grass,  I  stooped 
To  pull  the  red  wild  strawberries,  and  play 
With  daisy-heads  that  bobbed  and  leaves  that 
drooped, 


I  LAY  BENEATH  THE  APPLE-TREE        39 

And  swift  white  wayward  butterflies. 

I  came 
Home  to  the  Kttle  house  below  the  hill, 
—  Where  no  one  now  looks  out  to  call  my  name, 
And  yet,  I  think  I  sometimes  hear  them  still.  — 

I  have  been  very  happy  all  this  day, 
0  sun !  O  wind  that  blew  the  apple- tree ! 
And  yet  —  you  seem  so  far,  so  far  away,  — 
And  somehow,  it  is  death  stands  close  to  me. 


BEYOND  RECALL 

I  CANNOT  call  you  back  again, 

For  you  have  journeyed  far 
Beyond  the  hosting  of  the  rain 

Or  any  circled  star. 
For  you  have  journeyed  suddenly 

Beyond  my  highest  hill. 
I  cannot  call  you  back  to  me 

Who  am  so  earth-bound  still. 

In  lilac-leaves  and  boughs  of  fir, 

Low  water-sounds  and  wind, 
In  wings  that  start  and  clouds  that  stir 

Sure  excellence  I  find: 
In  touch  of  hands  and  flash  of  eyes.  — 

But  you,  —  oh,  what  of  you? 
Grown  instantly  so  strange,  so  wise, 

And  so  eternal  too. 

I  cannot  call  you  back,  although 

My  loneliness  may  call. 
What  would  you  now  of  whirling  snow 

And  shadows  sunset-tall? 
40 


BEYOND  RECALL  41 

And  I,  —  what  would  you  now  of  me? 

I  cannot  journey.    I 
Must  wait  till  I  too,  suddenly, 

Unlearn  this  earth,  this  sky. 


THE  DOORS 

The  doors  open,  the  doors  close. 

Blindfold  I  stand,  and  hear  them  swing 

In  the  wind  of  my  bewildering. 
The  doors  open,  the  doors  close. 

One  tied  a  thick  cloth  over  my  face. 
And  led  me  into  this  alien  place, 
And  left  me  alone,  to  grope  and  hear 
The  whispering  winds  of  the  world  draw  near, 
And  half,  to  hope;  and  half,  to  fear. 

Do  I  dare  to  step?    Do  I  dare  to  thrust 
My  hand  in  the  dark  that  is  thick  as  dust? 
And  what  shall  I  find,  if  I  enter  where 
The  wind  comes  forth  with  a  hand  on  my  hair? 
Do  I  dare?  in  the  dark,  —  do  I  dare? 

Which  door  leads  to  the  face  of  the  sun? 
And  which  is  the  precipice-plunging  one? 
How  shall  I  turn  where  the  voice  sings  out 
Like  wind  and  water  and  sea-men's  shout,  — 
Sings,  and  my  heart  leaps?  Where?  —  I  doubt. 
42 


THE  DOORS  43 

I  doubt.    I  am  baffled.    The  darkness  leans 
Hard  on  my  breast.    My  brain  careens 
Like  a  drunken  galleon.    The  winds  go  by. 
I  hear  the  hinges  that  creak  and  cry, 
And  one  says  "Live!''  and  one,  "Thou  shalt 
die!'' 

The  doors  open.    The  doors  close. 

I  reach  my  hand:  it  is  filled  with  the  dark. 

I  cry,  and  the  winds  cry  "Hark!  —  oh  hark!  —  " 
And  the  doors  open,  the  doors  close. 


SONG  — AFTER  SORROW 

Moonshine  over  the  City; 

Moonshine  over  the  Sea. 
I  have  wandered  farther  than  ever  the  Moon 

Since  last  She  looked  on  me. 

Little  I  knew  how  far,  how  far, 

How  aching-far  I  should  go, 
With  feet  of  a  perilous  falling  star 

And  hair  that  the  Wind  weighed  low. 

Moonshine  over  the  City; 

Moonshine  over  the  Sea: 
Oh,  I  am  weary  as  never  the  Moon 

With  wandering  curiously! 


THE  CITY'S  CRY 

The  City  cries  to  me  all  day 

And  cries  to  me  all  night. 
I  do  not  put  its  voice  away 

When  I  put  out  the  light. 

With  stars  and  frost  and  windy  things, 

Eternal  things  and  still, 
The  City  laughs  and  sobs  and  sings 

Across  my  window-sill. 

0  Sky  of  Stars,  how  wide  you  are! 
How  swept  with  light  you  lie! 
Yet  never  any  leaning  star 

Can  heed  the  City's  cry. 

1  lay  awake  when  past  the  roofs 
The  planets  all  were  strange. 

I  heard  the  City's  wheels  and  hoofs, 
The  City's  shift  and  change. 
45 


46  THE   CITY'S   CRY 

The  planets  all  were  greater  far 
Than  when  I  went  to  sleep; 

And  one  long  splendor  of  a  star 
Across  the  dark  did  leap. 

But  oh,  for  all  they  were  so  proud, 

I  heard  the  City  cry, 
And  in  my  dreams  I  saw  a  crowd 

Of  wan  folk  herded  by 

0  Sky  of  Stars,  though  you  are  great, 
Though  dreams  are  heaven-high. 
Monotonous  and  old  as  Fate 

1  hear  the  City  cry! 


BENEATH  THE'  WALL 

O  LITTLE  wind,  O  south  wind, 

0  wind  of  pleasant  feet, 
Step  quietly  across  the  wall. 
And  bless  this  sorry  street! 

Above  the  shadowed,  damp  old  wall 

1  see  a  piece  of  sky, 

Most  blue,  —  and  there  are  cherry-trees, 
White,  white,  —  and  swallows  fly. 

Black  darting  sharp-winged  ships  of  air, 
And  there^s  the  sun  all  day. 
But  here  below,  the  street  grinds  on, 
And  it  is  March,  not  May. 

0  Httle  wind,  O  south  wind. 
Come  softly  down  to  me  1 
A  cherry  petal's  light  as  air; 
Blow  one  across!    For  see, 

47 


48  BENEATH  THE  WALL 

The  steaming  streets,  the  shrieking  wheels, 
The  bricks  all  foul  with  slime, 
And  not  a  blade  of  sudden  grass 
To  tell  the  season's  time. 

And  all  the  people's  lips  are  blue 
As  on  a  sleety  day. 
For  only  up  above  the  wall 
Is  sky  and  sun  and  May. 

0  little  wind,  O  south  wind, 

O  wind  of  pleasant  feet. 

Come  down  from  that  walled  Paradise, 

And  bless  this  sodden  street! 


"OVER  THE  CITY,  NIGHT" 

I  SHUT  my  door;  I  stand  alone; 

My  windy  gaslight  leaps  and  sings. 
—  Over  the  City  weaves  the  Night 

Her  web  of  secret  things. 
Over  the  City,  all  the  streets 

Grow  cavernous  with  dusk,  or  glare 
White  with  a  thousand  lamps,  while  I 

Stand,  letting  down  my  hair. 

Pale  mirrored  face,  that  comes  to  meet 
My  face,  with  such  unseeing  eyes, 

Art  thou  then  /,  who  was  so  wild, 
And  thought  myself  so  wise? 

-^  Over  the  City,  face  on  face 
Stares  at  itself  to-night,  to  find 

Only  a  curious  shell,  with  eyes 
Wide,  meaningless,  and  blind. 

I  walked  once  in  a  graveyard  place, 

Greeting  the  Dead  Folk  from  the  ground. 

But  I  am  lonelier  far  to-night 
Than  with  gray  tombs  around. 

49 


50  "OVER  THE  CITY,  NIGHT" 

Life!  Life!  —  the  silence  and  the  cry! 

The  surge  of  seas  without  a  chart; 
More  strange  than  Death.  —  Who  ever  chose 

His  course?    Born  blind,  to  start 
Adventuring?  but  now,  behold, 

We  must  fare  on,  forever  fare. 
Over  the  City,  Night.  —  And  I 

Stand,  letting  down  my  hair. 


TO  OTHER  SMALL  VERSE-MAKERS 

0,  ALL  ye  little  poet-folk, 

Untried,  enamored  of  a  dream; 

Ye,  having  breathed  the  altar-smoke, 

And  loved  a  shade,  and  chased  a  gleam:  — 

In  face  of  all  the  woful  things, 
The  long  injustices  of  Life, 
Believing  somehow,  something  sings 
Above  the  sordidness  and  strife:  — 

Ye,  gallant  grapplers  with  foul  Fate,  — 
Let  us  sing  high,  then  fight.    Perchance 
Our  voice  and  valor  shall  be  great 
As  Fate's  unsinging  circumstance. 

0  all  ye  little  poet-folk, 
Men  say  we  are  but  fools  of  God,  — 
And  yet,  Gods  breathe  the  incense-smoke; 
And  they  are  worms  that  seek  the  sod. 
51 


THE  DREAM  SELF 

I  SEE  myself  go  up  and  down: 

I  chaffer  in  the  market-town, 

I  linger  on  the  willow-bridge, 

And  leap  upon  the  mountain  ridge. 

I  stretch  myself  to  sleep  at  night 

All  drowsy-limbed  and  lapp'd  in  white: 

At  dawn  I  stand  to  greet  the  sun. 

And  softly  cry  to  him.    I  run 

Up  hill  and  down:  my  hair  flies  free: 

Flushed  cheeks  and  panting  heart  of  me! 

In  daisy  fields  I  stumble;  stoop 

Where  hot  wild  berries  hide  and  droop; 

I  chase  a  bob-o'-link;  I  hark 

To  many  a  sad-glad  meadow-lark; 

In  Wood  of  Firs  I  hold  and  hush 

My  breath,  for  oh,  the  thrush!  the  thrush! 

And  on  the  white  roads  do  I  pass 

An  old  man  here,  and  there  a  lass, 

And  sometimes  shy-faced  lads  who  stare 

And  blush,  and  look  away.  —  O  Care, 

52 


THE  DREAM  SELF  53 

Thou  hast  not  touched  this  Shadow-Me 
Whom  light  of  foot  and  heart  I  see! 

For  in  what  dream-roofed  market-town 
Does  such  an  I  go  up  and  down? 
And  where  in  all  the  world  the  bridge, 
The  daisy  field,  the  mountain  ridge, 
The  Wood  of  Firs,  the  songs,  the  sky, 
The  lads  and  lasses  loitering  by? 
Ah,  where  the  little  white-walled  room 
That  bids  me  sleep  from  seed  to  bloom 
Of  flowery  Day?    And  where,  and  where, 
Light  hands  to  smooth  my  flickering  hair, 
Light  hands  I  love  to  hold  me,  eyes 
To  greet  me  home  with  laughter  wise? 

A  Dream  Self  in  a  world  of  dreams: 
A  Shadow  Self,  among  the  gleams 
The  arc-lights  cast.    A  foot  unknown 
By  barren  hall  and  sodden  stone: 
A  face  unstained  by  soot  and  smoke, 
And  all  the  million  merciless  folk. 

0  City,  City,  set  me  free 
To  live  my  lonely  fantasy! 


54  THE  DREAM  SELF 

Your  hand  about  my  throat  is  hot. 
I  love  you  not;  I  love  you  not; 
Your  eyes  are  hard  that  stare  at  me. 

0  City,  City,  set  me  free! 

—  I  see  myself  go  to  and  fro. 
The  arc-lights  quiver,  row  on  row; 
The  street-signs  wink  and  jeer  with  flame; 
But  nothing  calls  me  by  my  name, 
For  nothing  knows  the  names  I  bore 
In  those  wild  precious  days  of  yore. 

Someday,  someday,  —  and  though  I  die, 

1  shall  come  back,  0  sun!  0  sky! 


^Xr^ 


SOULS 

My  Soul  goes  clad  in  gorgeous  things, 
Scarlet  and  gold  and  blue. 
And  at  her  shoulder  sudden  wings 
Like  long  flames  flicker  through. 

And  she  is  swallow-fleet,  and  free 
From  mortal  bonds  and  bars. 
She  laughs,  because  Eternity 
Blossoms  for  her  with  stars! 

—  0  folk  who  scorn  my  stiff  gray  gown, 
My  dull  and  foolish  face, 
Can  ye  not  see  my  Soul  flash  down, 
A  singing  flame  through  space? 

And  folk,  whose  earth-stained  looks  I  hate, 
Why  may  I  not  divine 
Your  Souls,  that  must  be  passionate. 
Shining  and  swift,  as  mine? 
55 


ORIGINS 

In  many  a  graveyard  by  the  sea 
Lies  ash  of  what  now  flames  in  me. 
And  down  the  aching  wilderness 
Blows  dust  whence  got  I  throat  or  tress. 
Above  black  tombs  that  cities  choke 
\_  Dead  hearts  I  echo  drift  like  smoke. 

My  father  and  my  mother,  they 
Could  give  me  but  a  tithe  of  this: 
This  intricacy  dark  or  gay 
That  is  a  Masque  of  mysteries: 
This  motley,  sudden,  awful  thing, 
Aladdin's  lamp,  Pandora's  box: 
Cramful  of  terrors  wild  to  spring, 
Of  joy  that  glories,  fear  that  mocks: 
Tliis  me,  that,  walking  down  the  street,. 
Half  frightens  me.    Although  I  smile 
And  chat  and  bargain,  I  complete 
Cycles  of  change  in  every  mile! 
56 


V 


ORIGINS  57 

My  father  and  my  mother  told 
Of  certain  folk,  waste  years  away, 
Who,  sinful,  beautiful,  or  bold 
In  war,  in  dreaming,  in  array 
Of  strength  against  their  world,  are  still 
Remembered.    Ah,  not  all  from  them 
Stretch  down  these  subtle  veins  that  thrill 
Like  fires  that  web  an  opal  gem. 


What  gray-eyed  Viking  gave  me  sense 

Of  kinship  with  the  drowning  sea? 

What  great  dame,  steel-white,  proud,  intense. 

Bestowed  these  cursed  nerves  on  me? 


Was  there  a  gipsy,  long  ago? 
And  whence  my  blunted  finger-tips 
That  love  the  plain  craft-labors  so? 
Did  one  limn  pictures,  one  build  ships? 

Who  blundered  mothwise  through  the  dark 
Of  smothering  creeds,  to  find  out  God? 
And  oh,  what  dreamer  Hke  a  lark 
So  uselessly  the  sun-path  trod? 


SS  ORIGINS 

My  father  and  my  mother,  they 
Have  given  me  so  much  of  good, 
Confounded  am  I  to  betray 
Old  angers,  evil  fires  that  brood 
And  blaze,  or  shameful  cowardice. 
Yet  long  ago,  what  choler  flushed 
A  face  now  melted  out  like  ice? 
What  anguish,  demon-ready,  rushed 
Through  stricken  limbs?    I  look  within, 
Incredulous,  distrait,  to  spy 
An  endless  hungry  Hell  of  sin. 
I  too  had  shouted  "crucify!" 

—  Wind-ridden  graves  by  winter  sea, 
What  hold  ye  that  may  flame  in  me? 
White  dust  across  the  wilderness, 
What  wit  ye  of  my  throat  or  tress? 
Black-crusted  tombs  that  cities  choke. 
Know  I  the  hearts  that  stain  your  smoke? 

Fathers  and  mothers,  up  the  years 
I  call  upon  you.    Touched  with  tears 
I  kneel  before  you.    I  repay 
Upon  the  wind,  your  gifts.    To-day 


ORIGINS  59 

I  own  myself  a  patch-work  thing, 

A  crazy,  dust-heap  scavenging 

Of  you,  and  you,  and  you,  and  you,  — 

Poor  brave  blurred  skulls  the  sand  slips  through. 

And  yet  —  and  yet  — 

I  stand  alone. 
Now  all  the  wide  world  seems  my  own. 
Now  time  and  space  and  God's  own  eyes  ,    _ 

Draw  down  to  me.    I  seem  as  wise  iu-^ji^^'*^^ 

As  Norns  and  Sybils.    Mystery! 
I  nothing  am  save  mimicry? 
And  yet,  as  proud,  as  fresh  as  sky,  ^^ 

Stand  I,  —  another  Strange  New  I!  y«w*^^ 


THE  NIGHTS 

The  Nights  go  by,  the  Nights  go  by, 

Since  the  strong  dark  night  that  saw  him  die.  — 

He  said  not  once  "Farewell."    He  bowed 

Never  his  forehead  fair  and  proud. 

He  reached  no  hand  in  agony; 

But  he  looked  at  me.    He  looked  at  me. 

My  soul  and  his  in  the  strong  dark  night 
Wing  and  wing  took  flight,  took  flight: 
His  before,  and  my  soul  behind, 
They  fled  at  the  flashing  skirts  of  the  wind: 
Stars  they  swept,  and  they  looked  on  space 
Where  under  the  forked  flames  glowed  God's  face. 
—  Then  deep  they  fell  from  the  mystery, 
As  he  looked  at  me,  and  looked  at  me. 

The  Nights  like  a  flock  of  birds  go  by 
Since  the  strong  dark  night  that  saw  him  die. 
Over  my  head  their  wings  I  hear, 
And  their  steady  shadows  hover  and  steer 

60 


THE  NIGHTS  6 1 

Into  my  life  and  out  again : 
(Starlight  and  storm  on  the  pelted  pane,) 
But  never  a  night  save  that  alone 
Is  all  my  own,  is  all  my  own. 

He  said  not  once  "Farewell."    His  breath 

Trembled  no  touch  of  time  at  Death. 

He  asked  not,  "Whither  do  I  fare?" 

For  me  no  kiss,  and  for  God  no  prayer. 

But  our  souls  went  forth,  and  learned  the  way 

That  his  must  go  ere  dawn  of  day. 

The  Nights  go  by,  the  Nights  go  by, 
Since  the  strong  dark  night  that  saw  him  die: 
But  never  a  night  save  that  alone 
Is  all  my  own;  is  all  my  own. 


FAITH 

Oh,  I  am  tired  out  to-day: 

The  whole  world  leans  against  my  door : 

Cities  and  centuries.    I  pray,  — 

For  praying  makes  me  brave  once  more. 

—  I  should  have  lived  long,  long  ago, 
Before  this  age  of  steel  and  fire. 
I  am  not  strong  enough  to  throw 
A  noose  around  my  soul's  desire 
And  strangle  it,  because  it  cries 
To  keep  its  old,  unreasoned  place 
In  some  bright  simple  Paradise, 
Before  a  God's  too-human  face. 

I  know  that  in  this  breathless  fray 
I  am  not  fit  to  fight  and  cry. 
My  soul  grows  faint  and  far  away 
From  blood  and  shouting,  till  I  fly 
A  blinded  coward,  back,  to  hide 
My  face  against  the  dim  old  knees 
Of  that  too-human  God,  denied 
By  these  quick  crashing  centuries. 
62 


FAITH  63 

And  there  I  learn  deep  secret  things : 
Too  frail  for  speech,  too  strong  for  doubt: 
How  through  the  dark  of  demon-wings 
The  same  still  face  of  God  gleams  out; 
How  through  the  deadly  riotous  roar 
The  voice  of  God  speaks  on.    And  then 
I  trust  Him,  as  one  might  before 
Faith  grew  too  fond  to  comfort  men. 

—  I  should  have  lived  far,  far  away 
From  this  great  age  of  grime  and  gold: 
For  still,  I  know  He  hears  me  pray,  — 
That  close,  too-human  God  of  old! 


GIPSY  FEET 

Oh,  gipsy  hearts  are  many  enough,  but  gipsy  feet 

are  few! 
Many^s  the  one  that  loves  to  dream  night-long  of 

stars  and  dew: 
Many's  the  one  that  loves  the  scent  of  wood-smoke 

by  the  way. 
And  turns  a  leaping  longing  heart  to  every  dawn  of 

day. 

Gipsy  hearts  are  many  enough,  but  gipsy  feet  are 
few.  — 

Ah,  how  ill  it  is  to  bide  unloosed  the  long  year 
through! 

Up  and  down  the  loud  gray  streets,  stared  at,  star- 
ing back, 

Through  tarnished  trails  of  the  staggering  sun  and 
soot-fog  ochre-black;  — 

Dressed  in  heavy  and  sober  togs,  eating  of  h^avy 

fare, 
Hailed  by  only  the  screaming  street,  "Mind!  step 

lively  there!" 

64 


GIPSY  FEET  6s 

Crook-backed  over  a  dusty  desk,  —  bothering  to 

and  fro 
There  in  the  dull  and  airiess  house,  —  ah,  to  cut 

and  go!  — 

Up  the  hill-roads  into  the  day!    Over  the  sea- ward 

fells, 
Watch  the  thistle-down  dip,  and  hear  the  thin 

sheep's  huddling  bells; 
Run  like  fire  along  the  field,  worship  the  heart  of  the 

wood. 
Kneel  by  the  spring  that  splits  the  rock,  and  find 

the  white  rain  good. 

—  Oh,  gipsy  hearts  are  many  enough,  but  gipsy  feet 

are  few; 
And  secret  gods  must  we  worship  still,  if  we  worship 

fire  and  dew. 
For  we  must  bend  at  the  dusty  desk,  and  over  the 

counter  lean,  — 
Toil  and  moil  in  the  sun-starved  house,  though 

leaves  blow  red  or  green. 

God,  great  God  of  the  wind's  caress,  God  of  the 

sea's  salute, 
Why  are  we  chained  and  muzzled  and  meshed  more 

than  our  brother  the  brute? 


66  GIPSY  FEET 

Shall  there  be  never  a  day  that  all  of  the  gipsy 

hearts  may  greet, 
Laughing  out  at  the  lure  of  the  sun  for  the  lift  of  the 

gipsy  feet? 

But  oh,  though  that  day  is  far  to  come,  and  the  feet 

forget  to  go  free, 
Pray  God  that  the  hearts  may  not  forget  the  hurt 

and  the  ecstasy! 
Pray  God  that  never  the  fret  may  fail  when  the 

Spring  comes  over  the  year, 
That  never  the  thin  gay  autumn  dawns  may  seem 

less  wild  and  dear. 

For  shall  it  not  be  the  height  of  Heaven,  wonderful, 

swift,  and  sweet, 
If  into  the  paths  of  perilous  death  may  wander  the 

gipsy  feet? 
May  wander  free,  with  the  risk  of  the  road,  the  road 

that  the  glad  Dead  know. 
Out  where  the  fires  of  God  flame  high,  and  the  winds 

of  God  lean  low! 


SINGING 

I  DO  not  know  why  they  should  heed  my  singing. 
Are  they  not  deaf  and  blind  with  urgent  Life? 
And  what  am  I,  save  one  small  lark,  down-flinging 
My  sun-song  on  a  battle's  blood-red  strife? 

—  To-day  along  the  street  I  watched  the  City: 
The  faces,  faces,  blurred  or  keen  or  proud; 
Barren  with  selfish  shame  or  bright  with  pity; 
Faces  dumb-dreary  or  that  cried  aloud. 

And  there  was  nothing  for  my  songs  to  show  them 
Save  little  idle  loveliness,  and  faith 
Too  shy  to  reach  the  deep  locked  hearts  below  them, 
Slight  as  a  shadow,  wavering  as  a  wraith. 

—  Oh  none  the  less  I  must  be  singing,  singing! 
Somehow  I  think  I  hold  their  hearts  in  trust: 
Their  secret  sun-song,  up  the  blue  air  flinging 
Its  challenge  to  the  battle-dark  and  dust! 

67 


DAWN-DREAM 

You  dear  angel!  you  wise  angel!  you  angel  with 

wonderful  wings! 
I  heard  you  out  in  the  great  pine-tree,  and  you  sang 

as  a  wild  bird  sings. 
I  heard  you,  up  in  the  yellow  dawn,  before  the  frost 

is  away. 
O  dear  angel!  O  wise  angel!  lean  down  to  my  face, 

I  pray! 
Your  hands  would  be  cool  and  your  cheeks  would  be 

cool;  your  wings  would  be  cool  as  a  rose: 
If  you  would  but  bless  me  a  blessing,  small  as  the 

littlest  wind  that  blows ! 

All  night,  all  night,  did  I  lie  awake,  and  the  moon 

looked  in  at  me. 
She  was  so  terribly,  mortally  white,  and  the  stars 

were  as  dumb  as  she. 
Yet  they  told  me  I  was  a  fool,  a  fool,  for  my  dreams 

that  never  come  true : 
But  oh,  while  I  watched  for  the  yellow  dawn,  out 

here  in  the  pine  sang  you! 
68 


DAWN-DREAM  69 

You  dear  angel!  you  wise  angel!  you  angel  with 

wonderful  wings! 
Lean  down  for  a  minute,  and  kiss  me  —  so  —  till 

I  know  there  are  dream-sweet  things! 


HILL-FANTASY 

Sitteth  by  the  red  cairn  a  brown  One,  a  hoofed  One, 
High  upon  the  mountain,  where  the  grasses  Jail. 
Where  tJie  ash-trees  flourish  far  their  blazing  bunches 

to  the  sun, 
A  brown  One,  a  hoofed  One,  pipes  against  the  gale. 

I  was  on  the  mountain,  wandering,  wandering; 
No  one  but  the  pine  trees  and  the  white  birch  knew. 
Over  rocks  I  scrambled,  looked  up  and  saw  that 

Strange  Thing, 
Peaked  ears  and  sharp  horns,  pricked  against  the 

blue. 

Oh,  and  how  he  piped  there!  piped  upon  the  high 

reeds 
Till  the  blue  air  crackled  like  a  frost-film  on  a  pool! 
Oh,  and  how  he  spread  himself,  like  a  child  whom  no 

one  heeds. 
Tumbled  chuckling  in  the  brook,  all  sleek  and  kind 

and  cool! 

70 


HILL-FANTASY  71 

He  had  berries   'twixt  his  horns,  crimson-red  as 

cochineal. 
Bobbing,  wagging  wantonly  they  tickled  him,  and  oh, 
How  his  deft  lips  puckered  round  the  reed,  and 

seemed  to  chase  and  steal 
Sky-music,  earth-music,  tree-music  low! 

I  said,  ''Good-day,  Thou!''  He  said,  "Good-day, 
Thou!" 

Wiped  his  reed  against  the  spotted  doe-skin  on  his 
back. 

He  said,  "Come  up  here,  and  I  will  teach  thee  pip- 
ing now. 

While  the  earth  is  singing  so,  for  tunes  we  shall  not 
lack." 

Up  scrambled  I  then,  furry  fingers  helping  me. 
Up  scrambled  I.  So  we  sat  beside  the  cairn. 
Broad  into  my  face  laughed  that  horned  Thing  so 

naughtily. 
Oh,  it  was  a  rascal  of  a  woodland  Satyr's  bairn! 

"So  blow,  and  so.  Thou!  Move  thy  fingers  faster, 

look! 
Move  them  like  the  little  leaves  and  whirling  midges. 

So! 


72  HILL-FANTASY 

Soon  'twill  twist  like  tendrils  and  out-twinkle  like 

the  lost  brook. 
Move  thy  fingers  merrily,  and  blow!  blow!  blow!'' 

Brown  One!  Hoofed  One!  beat  the  time  to  keep  me 

straight. 
Kick  it  on  the  red  stone,  whistle  in  my  ear. 
Brush  thy  crimson  berries  in  my  face,  then  hold  thy 

breath,  for  —  wait! 
Joy  comes  bubbling  to  my  lips.    I  pipe!  oh,  hear! 

Blue  sky,  art  glad  of  us?  Green  wood,  art  glad  of  us? 
Old  hard-heart  mountain,  dost  thou  hear  me,  how 

I  blow? 
Far  away  the  sea-isles  swim  in  sun-haze  luminous. 
Each  one  has  a  color  like  the  seven-splendored  bow. 

Wind,  wind,  wind,  dost  thou  mind  me  how  I  pipe, 

now? 
Chipmunk  chatt'ring  in  the  beech,  rabbit  in  the 

brake? 
Furry  arm  around  my  neck:  "Oh,  thou  art  a  brave 

one.  Thou!" 
Satyr,  little  satyr-friend,  my  heart  with  joy  doth 

ache! 


HILL-FANTASY  73 

Sky-music,  earth-music,  tree-music  tremulous, 
Water  over  steaming   rocks,  water   in  the  shade. 
Storm-tune  and  sun-tune,  how  they  flock  up  unto 

us, 
Sitting  by  the  red  cairn,  gay  and  unafraid! 

Brown  One,  hoofed  One,  give  me  nimble  hoofs, 

Thou! 
Give  me  furry  fingers  and  a  secret  furry  tail! 
Pleasant  are  thy  smooth  horns :  if  their  like  were  on 

my  brow 
Might  I  not  abide  here,  till  the  strong  sun  fail?  — 

Oh,  the  sorry  brown  eyes !  Oh,  the  soft  kind  hand- 
touch, 

Sudden  brush  of  velvet  ears  across  my  wind-cool 
cheek! 

"Play-mate,  Pipe-mate,  thou  askest  one  good  boon 
too  much. 

I  could  never  find  thee  horns,  though  day-long  I 
should  seek. 

"Yet,  keep  the  pipe.  Thou:  I  will  cut  another  one. 
Keep  the  pipe  and  play  on  it  for  all  the  world  to 
hear. 


74  HILL-FANTASY 

Ah,  but  it  was  good  once  to  sit  together  in  the  sun! 
Though  I  have  but  half  a  soul,  it  finds  thee  very 
dear! 

"Wise  Thing,  Mortal  Thing,  yet  my  half -soul  fears 

thee! 
Take  the  pipe  and  go  thy  ways,  —  quick  now,  for 

the  sun 
Reels  across  the  hot  west  and  stumbles  dazzled  to 

the  sea. 
Take  the  pipe,  and  oh  —  one  kiss!  then  nm!  rum 

run!'*  — 

Silence  on  the  mountain.    Lonely  stands  the  high 

cairn. 
All  the  leaves  a-shivering,  all  the  stones  dead-gray. 

0  thou  cold  small   pipe,  which  way  is  fled  that 

Satyr's  bairn? 

1  am  lost  and  all  alone,  and  down  drops  the  day. 


/  was  on  the  mountain,  wandering,  wandering. 
There  I  got  this  Pipe  o'  dreams.  Strange,  when  I  blow, 
Something   deep    as    human    love    starts    a-crying, 

troubling. 
Is  it  only  sky-music,  earth-music  low? 


WARNING 

Pan's  people  on  the  mountain,  pale  Mermaids  in 
the  sea, 

A  Druid  by  the  standing-stones,  a  Gipsy  at  the 
spring:  — 

Oh,  queer  indeed  are  all  the  folk  who  keep  me  com- 
pany, 

If  you  beheve  the  tales  I  tell  when  I  go  romancing! 

A  satyr  on  the  mountain,  a  small  brown  satyr-bairn. 
He  piped  to  me  and  kissed  me,  beside  the  windy 

cairn. 
But  all  I  truly  saw  there  was  one  flat-heeled  Old 

Maid: 
She  had  a  most  strong-minded  look  beneath  a  green 

sun-shade. 

I  was  a  gipsy,  kneeling  beside  a  wild  camp-fire. 
And  down  the  red-leaf-road  at  dusk  he  came,  my 
heart's  desire! 

75 


76  WARNING 

His  silver  harness  jingled;  he  sang;  —  but,  bless 
you,  then 

I  just  was  minding  bacon  for  three  hungry  picnic- 
men! 

Once  Gabriel  and  Michael  stood  near  me,  side  by 

side. 
Their  hair  was  flame,  their  eyes  were  flame,  their 

whispering  wings  swept  wide. 
Great  Gabriel  and  Michael!  They  were  not  there, 

you  know, 
But  I  was  bored,  quite  frankly  bored,  the  Rector 

rambled  so. 

So,  when  you  read  my  verses,  0  Anyone  Who 

Might, 
You  must  not  mind  stray  angels  or  a  sudden  furry 

faun. 
They  are  my  dear  Dream-people:  they  are  my 

heart's  delight: 
But  still  I  turn  the  bacon-fork,  or  sit  in  church  and 

yawn! 


MY  HOUSE 

You'll  follow  the  car-track  down  the  hill, 
And  cross  the  bridge  by  the  dead-faced  mill  — 
(There's  a  row  of  poplars  that  shiver  there, 
And  thin  bright  water  comes  over  the  weir,) 
Then  presently,  turn  to  the  left  a  bit, 
And  there  by  the  road  my  house  will  sit. 

Oh,  such  a  plain  white  Puritan  house! 
Proper  as  paint,  and  mild  as  a  mouse; 
Good  green  shutters  and  lilac-trees, 
Hollyhocks  nodding,  and,  if  you  please, 
A  walk  of  flag-stones  with  grass  between, 
And  lichen  ledges  all  mouldy  green. 

Tinkle  my  bell,  (there's  a  knocker,  you'll  see. 
But  I  wouldn't  hear  it  thumping,  maybe, 
Up  in  the  garret  rafters,  or  out 
In  the  kitchen,  taking  my  turn  about 
With  the  dishes,)  tinkle,  and  turn  and  look 
At  my  hills,  past  the  strawberry  fields  and  the  brook 

77 


78  MY  HOUSE 

And  the  daisy  meadow  and  dim  beech  wood, 
At  my  hills,  —  wide  billows  of  wonder,  good 
As  a  play  for  watching!    You  never  know 
The  next  wise  act  in  their  all-day-show; 
Though   you'd   hardly  guess  it,   they  crouch  so 

still. 
Great  green  hill  over  great  green  hill. 
With  never  a  comment  on  Life  or  Death, 
Drawing  their  own  slow  cycles  of  breath. 

And  long,  oh,  ever  so  long  before 

You're  done  with  looking,  I'll  come  to  the  door. 

Covered  with  big  blue  apron  and  all. 

Unless  I'm  quite  sure  it's  a  Proper  call; 

Decide  if  I  like  your  looks,  and  say, 

(If  I  do)  "Come  in!"  and  show  you  the  way 

To  the  room  where  the  books  live,  crowded  high 

To  the  very  top  of  their  ceiling-sky, 

Railing  or  preaching,  inside,  at  us. 

But  seeming  most  silent  and  decorous. 

I  hope,  if  I  like  you,  the  weather  '11  be  cold.     • 
We'll  blow  up  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  hold 
Our  hands  out  to  it,  and  somehow  then 
We  needn't  chatter  so  much  as  when 


MY  HOUSE  79 

We  sit  up  stiff  in  my  grandmother^s  chairs, 
And  talk  of  the  weather. 

How  fire-shine  scares 
The  smallness  from  us,  and  makes  us  say 
Big  slow  things  that  are  better  than  gay! 

—  So,  maybe,  well  half  be  friends  before 
You  stand  again  in  the  sunny  door, 
Tread  again  down  the  flag-stones,  greet 
My  waiting  hills,  and  go  up  the  street, 
Willing,  I  hope,  to  come  back  again 
To  my  house,  so  Puritan  white  and  plain; 
Willing,  I  hope,  to  come  back  to  see 
My  hills  and  my  hollyhocks  and  Me! 

•        • 

The  architect  showed  me  the  plans  to-day, 

But  he's  mortal  slow  to  get  under  way! 

If  my  cellar  is  dug  before  frost  gets  in. 

And  the  men  don't  strike,  if  they  once  begin,  — 

If  my  poems  sell,  (but  how  can  they  all?) 

There's  the  ghost  of  a  chance  that  the  day  you  call, 

(Follow  the  car-track  down  the  hill, 

And  cross  the  bridge  by  the  poplar-mill,) 

There,  as  I  said,  my  house  will  sit, 

Off  to.  the  side  of  the  road  a  bit. 


8o  MY  HOUSE 

And  oh,  though  there  aren't  any  hollyhocks, 
And  my  house  still  looks  like  a  blank  white  box, 
And  you  can't  find  the  flag-stones  and  Hlac-trees, 
You  mustn't  be  stiffish  and  solemn,  please! 
You  must  take  my  hills  and  my  house  and  me 
For  a  promise  of  all  that  we  want  to  be. 

For  I  rather  think,  if  I  choose  it  so, 
My  house,  and  those  hollyhocks,  will  grow  — 
Not  till  I'm  spent  and  old,  maybe. 
But  surely  someday,  simple  and  free; 
Good  at  welcomes,  and  glad  to  greet 
Over  the  flag-stones,  wishful  feet:  — 
And  my  hills,  and  my  hearth,  and  even  I 
Can  make  you  happier,  bye  and  bye! 


FREE 

The  spring  winds  sweep  my  garden-wall; 

The  tall  ships  take  the  sea. 
I  will  be  happy  with  them  all, 

For  now  my  heart  is  free. 

The  swift  years  fly  before  my  face 
Like  swallows  sharp  and  blue. 

From  out  the  dark  of  Time  and  Space 
They  never  bring  me  You. 

And  who  You  are  I  do  not  know 

I  hardly  long  to  see 
A  face  so  dim,  and  feet  so  slow 

To  cross  the  world  to  me. 

If  You  had  loved  me,  there  was  time 

To  find  me  out:  but  now 
I  have  more  joy  of  wind  or  rhyme 

"^han  dream-hands  on  my  brow. 
8i 


82  FREE 

O  winds  across  my  garden-wall! 

O  ships  upon  the  sea! 
Your  kin  am  I :  no  more  I  call 

The  wraith  of  Love  to  me! 


A  SEA-SPELL 

The  bay  is  bluer  than  all  the  sky; 
The  sky  is  bluer  than  sapphire-stone; 
The  wind  and  the  wave,  the  wave  and  the  wind, 
Beat  and  dazzle  me  glad  and  blind, 
Over  the  marshes  blown. 

Once  I  was  a  plover  who  ran,  who  ran, 
A  crying  shadow  along  the  foam. 
Once  I  was  a  gull  in  the  swing  of  the  spray. 
Over  green  shallows  I  hung  all  day. 
Till  sunset  carried  me  home. 

Once  I  was  a  ship  with  glorious  sails 
That  leapt  to  the  love  of  the  wind. 
Up  over  the  edge  of  the  world  I  fled, 
Sun-followed  and  fleet-foam-heralded :  — 
The  hidden  tides  knew  my  mind. 

But  now  I  am  only  a  girl  who  runs, 
A  laughing  pagan  with  tangled  hair. 
Plover  and  gull  and  ship  was  I,  — 
Perchance  when  my  body  comes  to  die 
My  soul  shall  again  fly  fair? 
83 


NOCTURNE  —  (FOR  MUSIC) 

Far,  —  far,  —  oh,  far,  — 
The  sweet  sea-silence  lies. 
Past  the  surfy  bar 
The  dark  tide  dreams  and  sighs.  - 

Night,  —  trembling  night,  — 
And  only  I  to  see 
Heaven's  reeling  white 
Star-haunted  mystery.  — 

Far,  —  far,  —  oh,  far,  — 
The  strong  sea-silence  broods 
—  Hush,  oh  falling  star ! 
Hurt  not  Heav'n's  solitudes! 


84 


HEART  0'  THE  WOOD 

I  WENT  up  on  foxes'  feet: 
I  went  up  on  thrushes'  wings. 

O  Thou  Heart  o'  the  Wood,  thou  sweet 
Company  of  Silent  Things ! 

No  one  said  me  nay.    I  passed 

Wingwise  up  the  quiet  tracks 
Where  the  tall  dead  pine-trees  cast 

Shadows  on  each  others'  backs. 
They  were  rich  with  bronze  and  tall; 

They  were  warm  and  incense-rare; 
And  the  Sun  went  through  them  all 

As  a  king  goes  up  a  stair. 
Not  a  squirrel,  not  a  bird, 

Not  a  heavy  human  stir. 
All  the  wind  I  ever  heard 

Was  an  idle  loiterer. 
At  the  top  I  stood  agaze 

Where  the  forest  fell  apart, 
Caught  the  blue  of  gleaming  bays, 

Searched  the  faint  horizon's  heart; 
8s 


86  HEART  0'  THE  WOOD 

Stared  down  vistas  green  and  gold: 

Fairy  ferns  in  companies, 
Beech  leaves  tossing  manifold 

As  the  tides  of  tropic  seas:  — 
Sat  one  moment  with  the  Sun, 

Loosed  his  hand  at  last  and  leapt, 
Like  a  diver  at  a  run, 

Where  the  green  leaf -water  swept. 
Ah,  it  swirled  above  my  head! 

Far  and  cool  the  sunshine  grew. 
And  my  feet  that  slipped  and  fled 

Down  the  leafy  whirl-pool  drew. 
Drowned  in  leaves  —  in  leaves  I  swung. 

Fathoms  deep  I  trod  the  green 
Trembling  silence;  or  I  hung 

Swaying  o'er  the  depth  serene. 
But  my  breath  was  light  and  free, 

And  my  eyes  were  wide,  for  oh, 
Wonder  —  Wonder  —  sang  to  me 

From  the  silence  green  and  low! 

I  came  down,  nor  felt  my  feet: 
I  came  down,  nor  needed  wings. 

O  Thou  Heart  o'  the  Wood,  thou  sweet 
Company  of  Silent  Things! 


WATER  FANTASY 

O  BROWN  brook,  0  blithe  brook,  what  will  you  say 
to  me 

If  I  take  off  my  heavy  shoon  and  wade  you  child- 
ishly? 

0  take  them  off,  and  come  to  me. 
You  shall  not  fall.    Step  merrily! 

But,  cool  brook,  but,  quick  brook,  and  what  if  I 

should  float 
White-bodied  in  your  pleasant  pool,  your  bubbles 

at  my  throat? 

If  you  are  but  a  mortal  maid, 
Then  I  shall  make  you  half  afraid. 
The  water  shall  be  dim  and  deep, 
And  silver  fish  shall  lunge  and  leap 
About  you,  coward  mortal  thing. 
But  if  you  come  desiring 
87 


88  WATER  FANTASY 

To  win  once  more  your  naiadhood, 
How  you  shall  laugh  and  find  me  good  - 
My  golden  surfaces,  my  glooms, 
My  secret  grottoes'  dripping  rooms. 
My  depths  of  warm  wet  emerald. 
My  mosses  floating  fold  on  fold! 
And  where  I  take  the  rocky  leap 
Like  wild  white  water  shall  you  sweep; 
Like  wild  white  water  shall  you  cry. 
Trembling  and  turning  to  the  sky. 
While  all  the  thousand-fringed  trees 
Glimmer  and  glisten  through  the  breeze. 
I  bid  you  come!  Too  long,  too  long, 
You  have  forgot  my  undersong. 
And  this  perchance  you  never  knew: 
E'en  I,  the  brook,  have  need  of  you. 
My  naiads  faded  long  ago,  — 
My  little  nymphs,  that  to  and  fro 
Within  my  waters  sunnily 
Made  small  white  flames  of  tinkling  glee. 
I  have  been  lonesome,  lonesome;  yea. 
E'en  I,  the  brook,  until  this  day. 
Cast  off  your  shoon;  ah,  come  to  me. 
And  I  will  love  you  lingeringly  I 


WATER   FANTASY  89 

0  wild  brook,  0  wise  brook,  I  cannot  come,  alas! 

1  am  but  mortal  as  the  leaves  that  flicker,  float,  and 

pass. 
My  body  is  not  used  to  you ;  my  breath  is  fluttering 

sore; 
You  clasp  me  round  too  icily.    Ah,  let  me  go  once 

more! 
Would  God  I  were  a  naiad-thing  whereon  Pan's 

music  blew; 
But  woe  is  me!  you  pagan  brook,  I  cannot  stay 

with  you! 


THE   GLAD  DAY 

I  HAVE  not  thought  of  sorrow 
The  whole  day  long,  nor  now. 
I  wandered  out,  and  oh,  what  winds 
Laid  kisses  on  my  brow ! 

And  all  the  world  was  kind  to  me: 
Each  spear  of  grass  was  gay; 
The  brown  brooks  had  a  mind  to  me, 
And  sang  me  on  my  way. 

I  conquered  many  a  climbing  road, 
And  always  at  the  crest 
The  winds  of  all  the  world  abode, 
And  shadows  stopped  to  rest. 

The  hills  like  lazing  gods  of  eld 
With  sleepy  shoulders  lay. 
And  all  the  soaring  vault  upheld 
Of  high  blue  heavenly  day. 
90 


THE   GLAD   DAY  91 

Far,  far  below  the  village  spire 
Pricked  sharply  to  the  sky. 
"Strong  pagan  hills  of  my  desire! 
Frail  house  of  God!"  thought  I. 

Far,  far  below  the  river  crept; 
The  willow  leaves  made  stir 
Of  blowing  silver,  touched  and  swept 
By  wind,  wild  lute-player. 

(The  river-wind  a  minstrel  is, 
A  minstrel  deft  and  blind. 
The  willows  know  his  fingers'  kiss 
As  strings  the  player's  mind.) 

The  sweet  shorn  fields,  the  fairy  fern, 
The  roadside's  gipsy  bloom. 
Young  goldenrod,  —  oh,  every  turn 
Was  blithe  with  green  and  gloom! 

I  did  not  meet  a  single  face 
That  would  not  smile  at  me. 
Perhaps  the  sun's  vast  golden  grace 
Set  love  and  laughter  free. 


92  THE   GLAD   DAY 

The  gravestones  by  the  poplar  tree 
Full  carelessly  I  passed. 
I  thought  that  Death  himself  must  see 
How  sweet  was  Life,  at  last. 

And  I  came  home  at  evening  time, 
But  still  my  heart  doth  sing,  — 
So  have  I  wrought  this  wavering  rhyme 
For  my  remembering. 

I  have  not  thought  of  sorrow 
The  whole  day  long,  nor  now. 
Good-night,  fair  world !  and  oh,  what  stars 
Weave  splendor  round  my  brow! 


EARTH-BOUND 

I  CANNOT  fly  to  Paradise: 

I  cannot  leave  at  all 
The  homely  heaven-path  that  lies 

Hard  by  my  own  house- wall. 

0  stars  and  suns  that  wait  on  God, 

I  know  you  not.    I  know 
That  I  am  kin  of  leaf  and  sod, 

Of  rain,  white  frost,  and  snow. 

0  dreams  that  pierce  the  heart  of  hfe, 

I  feel  you  flashing  by, 
But  may  not  watch  the  immortal  strife 

Ye  wage,  too  bright  to  die. 

My  own  dear  dreams  are  small  and  still: 
How  some  one  Hkes  me;  how 

It  was  a  joy  to  climb  the  hill 
Where  west- wind  stroked  my  brow; 

How  I  shall  make  a  dress  to-day 

Of  merry  woodland  green, 
That  to  Myself  Myself  may  say 

"To  Fairyland  youVe  been!" 

93 


94  EARTH-BOUND 

How  I  am  glad  the  seasons  change; 

More  glad  my  friends  change  not: 
How  even  troubles  sharp  and  strange 

I  somehow  have  forgot. 

I  cannot  fly  to  Paradise: 

My  earth-stained  wings  are  slow. 

Not  being  wonderful  or  wise 
The  earth- joy  keeps  me  low. 

Yet  to  the  secret  Hand  of  God 

I  hold,  nor  feel  afraid. 
He  knows  me  Soul;  He  knows  me  sod; 

For  both  He  dreamed  and  made! 


THE  SECRET  THING 

I  SOUGHT  to  sing  the  secret  of  my  heart; 

But  it  escaped  me  Hke  a  wild-winged  bird, 

And  to  the  lonely  Heavens  did  depart 

Until  a  faint  lost  note  was  all  I  heard. 
And  no  one  else  on  all  the  earth  could  hear 
What  I  had  deemed  so  marvelously  clear. 

I  sought  to  tell  the  secret  of  my  heart, 
Whispering  low,  to  one  who  loved  me  well. 
But  Uke  a  breath  of  dawn  I  felt  it  start 
And  pass  before  one  precious  symbol  fell. 

And  she  I  loved  so  only  looked  at  me. 

"What  fragrant  wind  was  that?     Oh,  sweet!'* 
said  she. 

So  I  shall  keep  it  hid  eternally. 

It  is  so  filmy,  exquisite,  and  wild: 

And  yet  so  bright  and  eloquent  and  free. 

Full  many  a  barren  day  it  has  beguiled. 
But  if  none  else  its  loveliness  may  see  i 

Think  not  I  play  the  miser  willingly! 
95 


OH  NEVER  SHUT  YOUR  DOOR  ON  ME" 

Oh  never  shut  your  door  on  me 

Because  your  house  will  make  me  sad. 

I  dance  enough:  I  always  see 
Enough  sweet  things  to  keep  me  glad. 

And  if  you  shut  your  door  and  say 
^'My  house  is  dark  and  dull  for  you: 

Run  far,  run  far,  and  love  your  day, 
Your  sun  and  wind  and  flowery  dew, 

''I  must  not  make  you  sad,"  —  Ah  so 
I  shall  be  saddest  and  most  still. 

And  never  spread  my  wings  to  blow 
Across  the  sunny  windswept  hill: 

I  shall  but  stand  outside  your  door 
And  cry,  and  trouble  you,  till  you 

Must  let  me  in  to  you  once  more, 

Or  hear  me  cry,  the  whole  day  through. 
96 


OH  NEVER  SHUT  YOUR  DOOR  ON  ME"  97 

What  do  I  care  how  dark  your  hall 

With  lonely  strange  unlonged-for  night? 

How  cold  your  hearth,  how  fast  to  fall 
The  tears  you  hid  from  stark  day-light? 

Perhaps  the  fire  is  lit,  for  me! 

Perhaps  the  chambers  shine  and  sing. 
You  do  not  know !     Your  agony 

To  me  may  be  a  brave  bright  thing! 

And  even  if  I  cannot  make 

The  cold  house  warm  and  happy,  yet 
Two  hearts  are  swifter  not  to  ache : 

Two  heads  are  swifter  to  forget. 

And  if  you  shut  your  door  on  me 

Too  long,  until,  forspent,  I  go 
Away,  and  leave  you  utterly,  — 

Oh,  I  could  never  shine  and  blow! 


YEARS 

In  the  night  I  awake,  when  the  moon  is  dead, 
When  the  gloomy  streets  are  untra versed : 
When  the  silence  sings,  and  the  night-lamp's  gleam 
Flickers  like  breath  of  a  dying  dream. 

I  turn  on  my  face,  I  cover  my  ears, 
But  I  cannot  escape  the  tramp  of  the  Years: 
The  Years  I  have  known,  the  Years  I  must  know, 
And  the  Years  where  my  body  never  may  go. 

In  the  night  I  awake,  when  the  moon  is  dead. 

My  dreams  like  the  light  are  all  scattered. 

I  turn  on  my  face,  I  cover  my  ears. 

But  they  march,  they  march,  the  Hosts  of  the  Years. 

They  march  to  the  brink  of  a  strange  bright  sea. 
And  fall  in  the  tides  of  Eternity.  — 
Like  a  ghost-ridden  child,  I  cover  my  ears, 
But  I  hear  the  death  of  the  strong-shod  Years. 

98 


TO  LONELY  YOUTH 

So,  lean  your  head  against  my  knee, 
And  cry,  and  tell  it  all  to  me. 

You  need  not  play-act  now,  poor  child; 
You  of  the  windy  heart  and  wild, 
Whom  all  the  boys  and  girls  pass  by  - 
Because  you  are  not  Uke  them. 

Cry! 
Cry  till  the  laughter  flickers  through. 
Bright  from  the  good  brave  pride  in  you, 
Bidding  you  know  how  young  you  are, 
Happy  with  sunbeams  or  a  star, 
Or  sea-storms  or  a  butterfly. 
You,  whom  the  boys  and  girls  pass  by 
Have  merrier  thoughts  each  dawn  of  day 
Than  in  a  year  of  dancing,  they! 

And  yet,  you  envy  them.  Ah,  there! 
Toss  back  your  tangle-top,  and  stare 
Straight  in  my  eyes,  you  child. 

How  deep 
The  full-grown  passionate  wonders  sleep! 
99 


lOO  TO  LONELY  YOUTH 

You  cannot  guess  how  rich  you  are, 
Lover  of  silence  and  a  star:  — 
Longing,  (great  eyes  and  gleaming  curls) 
Just  to  be  like  all  other  girls; 
Just  to  be  gay,  and  quick,  and  wear 
The  same  wide  ribbons  in  your  hair, 
To  talk  the  same  sharp  chatter,  change 
The  same  small  jokes. 

While  you  —  can  range 
The  Silver  Mountains  of  the  Moon 
In  curly-footed  elfin  shoon; 
And  feel  the  Spirits  of  the  Air 
Whisper  across  that  tumbled  hair; 
Can  hear,  not  very  far  away, 
True  Joy  and  Sorrow,  calling,  ''Lay 
Your  childhood  by!  We  come  to  meet 
Full  soon,  the  twinkle  of  your  feet; 
And  we  shall  make  you  wise,  and  strong, 
And  gay  as  gods,  not  girls,  ere  long!" 

Oh,  lean  your  head  against  my  knee, 
And  listen,  breathing  quietly. 

For  all  the  ribbons  and  the  curls. 
You  are  not  like  those  other  girls.  — 


TO  LONELY  YOUTH  loi 

Dear  heart,  you  cannot  laugh  as  they, 
Who  never  know  what  makes  you  gay: 
You  must  be  lonely,  often;  yes, 
And  learn  to  love  your  loneKness. 

Yes,  lonely,  —  wistful  eyes! 

0  child, 
Vexed  by  the  windy  heart  and  wild, 
Youth  hurts  you,  and  must  hurt  you.    Yet 
Hold  to  your  dreams !  nor  once  forget 
They  shall  be  utter  Youth  for  you 
When  others'  dancing-days  are  through. 
Hold  to  your  dreams! 

What  if,  to-night. 
You  seemed  so  stupid,  and  the  Hght 
Young  laughter  lashed  you?  —  some  day,  sweet, 
Your  turn  shall  come!  your  turn,  to  greet 
High  Friends,  deep  Love:  no  puppet-play. 
But  Love's  last  pain  and  pride,  some  day. 
And  nights  like  this,  Tired  Heart,  will  seem 
The  least  queer  shadow  of  a  dream! 

And  yet  (great  eyes  and  tear-wet  curls) 

You  would  be  like  those  other  girls ! 

So  be  it!  Run!  Blow  out  the  hght. 

But  —  no  more  tears! — You  child,  good-night! 


I  WENT  TO  SEEK  HER 

I  WENT  to  seek  her,  for  I  love  her. 
I  went  to  seek  her;  she  was  gone. 
Sunshine,  seeing  all  things,  canst  discover 
Which  of  all  the  roads  she  wanders  on? 

Wind,  knowing  wild  earth's  cracks  and  crannies, 
Hast  brushed  her  temples  and  her  hair? 
In  a  hid  place,  where  no  beast  nor  man  is,  — 
Where  she  wanders  lonely,  yet  so  fair? 

Green  is  the  mountain  and  the  meadow: 
Silver-streaked  the  whispering  willow- tree: 
River  sharp  with  sun  or  soft  with  shadow: 
Clouds  like  to  lily-blooms,  —  but  she?  — 

Ah,  I  will  seek  her,  for  I  love  her! 
I  will  follow,  over  hill  and  sea! 
Flying  air-folk,  help  me  to  discover 
Whither  like  a  wild  bird  wanders  she! 


THE  RED   ROAD 

The  wild  blood  of  the  gipsy  folk 
Is  staining  all  the  wood, 

The  hazes  like  their  camp-fires  smoke, 
Alas,  wild  brotherhood! 
Oh,  sweet  are  berries  on  the  thorn 
And  apples  stoFn  by  night. 
For  we  of  gipsy  folk  were  born, 
To  blink  by  the  red  fire-light. 

To  blink  by  the  red  fire-light,  oh  child, 
To  stare  at  the  naked  stars. 

What  wonder  that  your  heart  is  wild. 
And  walls  seem  prison-bars? 

And  now  the  roads  are  free  and  clean, 
And  now  the  wind  is  cold; 

The  crimson  bleeds  across  the  green, 
The  green  is  rich  with  gold. 
The  river  hisses  at  the  race. 
The  yellow  leaves  float  fast; 
But  we  are  wanting  from  our  place. 
Though  the  gipsy  winds  blow  past. 
103 


I04  THE  RED   ROAD 

Though  the  gipsy  winds  blow  high,  oh  child ! 

Though  the  gipsy  moon  leans  low. 
Alas  that  hearts  so  keen  and  wild 
^^   May  not  rise  up  and  go! 

Oh,  I  am  old  and  I  must  die, 

But  once  my  hair  was  thick, 
And  full  of  gipsy  blood  was  I  — 

The  rich,  the  bold,  the  quick. 

The  Little  Road  across  the  Hill, 

The  Great  Road  to  the  Sea, 

The  Willow  Paths,  they  call  me  still, 

And  the  Red  Road  sings  to  me. 
The  Red  Road  sings  to  me,  oh  child, 

Where  the  leaves  like  fire-flames  blow. 
Oh,  heart  of  my  young  heart,  born  wild, 

Rise  up,  and  run,  and  go! 


NOT  FOR  YOUR  SAKES 

Not  for  your  sakes;  —  although  I  can  but  see 
How  glad  you  are  to  greet  my  joy,  my  youth, 
(For  you  remember  suddenly  in  me 
Your    May-days)  —  ah,    but    I    must    tell    the 

truth: 
Not  all  to  help  your  groping  loneUness, 
Nor  yet  because  I  love  you  (though  I  do) 
To-day  I  kneel  beside  you,  swift  to  press 
Your  hands  in  mine,  with  laughter;  not  for  you, 
But  for  myself. 

When  I  shall  sometime  grow 
A  little  old,  a  little  dim  and  strange. 
When  fine  gray  veils  across  my  brightness  blow, 
And  mirrors  whisper,  "Look!  you  change.     You 

change!" 
When  somehow  friends  no  more  beset  me;  dreams 
Are  dumb  at  night,  and  lame  at  dawn  of  day; 
When  stealthy  as  a  star  the  Glory  seems 
To  fold  itself  in  fog  and  tread  away;  — 


lo6  NOT  FOR  YOUR  SAKES 

Then,  when  I  think,  "My  turn  at  last  is  come. 
Time  to  put  by  the  wind  and  sun  and  sea: 
Time  to  begin  the  darkening  path-way  home, 
Where  my  flown  Youth,  bright-winged,  awaiteth 

me: 
Time  to  slip  back,  slip  back,  and  be  at  rest,'^  — 
Ah  then,  to  know  my  youth  uncursed,  unmarred 
By  coldness  and  bright  cruelty,  the  zest 
Of  feet  that  dance  on  hearts:  —  to  take  the  hard 
Low  shadowed  road  with  no  vain  bitterness. 
No  blind  self-hatred,  but  as  one  who  goes 
Safe  through  the  lonely  places,  lanternless. 
Yet  trusting  that  the  road  is  one  he  knows;  — 
Oh,  for  myself,  myself,  I  come  to  you. 
Frail  blue-veined  hands,  dulled  eyes,  and  ques- 
tioning ears. 
Loving  you  truly,  as  I  can  but  do, 
But  seeing  half  myself  through  these  my  tears! 


COMRADES  V 

You  need  not  say  one  word  to  me,  as  up  the  hill  we 

go, 
(Night-tiirie,  white-time,  all  in  the  whispering  snpw) 
You  need  not  say  one  word  to  me,  although  the 

whisperijij  trees  / 

Seem  strange  and  old  as  pagan  priests  in  swaying .  - 

mysteries. 

You  need  not  think  one  thought  of  me,  as  up  the 

trail  we  go, 
(Hill- trail,  still- trail,  all  in  the  hiding  snow;) 
You  need  not  think  one  thought  of  me,  although  a 

hare  runs  by. 
And  off  behind  the  tumbled  cairn  we  hear  a  red  fox 

cry. 

Oh,  good  and  rare  it  is  to  feel,  as  through  the  night 

we  go, 
(Wild-wise,  child-wise,  all  in  the  secret  snow,) 
That  we  are  free  of  heart  and  foot  as  hare^  and  fox 

are  free. 
And  yet  that  I  am  glad  of  you,  and  you  are  glad  of 

me! 

107 


SILENCE 

In  the  old  days,  when  first  I  knew  you,  we 
Were  not  afraid  of  Silence.    We  could  stand 
Whole  growing-spaces,  staring  splendidly 
Across  the  moon-white  palpitating  land, 
And  turn,  and  climb  again  the  mountain- trail 
With  but  a  sigh  of  joy.    Or  we  could  sit 
Half-hours  by  the  wood-fire,  while  the  frail 
^^ierce  sparks  whirled  starwards  from  the  heart  of  it. 
Our  thoughts,  it  seemed,  their  quiet  distance  kept. 
Their  high-roads  never  meeting,  side  by  side, 
Moon  ward  and  starward,  innocent  they  swept: 
And  we  were  glad  and  silent,  and  the  wide 
Still  world  seemed  all  our  play-ground,  for  we  knew 
That  we  could  dream  together,  I  and  you. 

But  now,  we  are  afraid  of  Silence.    We 
Dare  not  a  moment  let  her  in  to  us, 
Lest  she  betray  us,  blankly,  utterly. 
She  who  was  once  so  kind,  now  perilous 

io8 


SILENCE  109 

As  some  sly  enemy,  must  stand  apart.  — 
The  shuttle  of  our  words  shoots  to  and  fro 
In  worthless  webs;  while  constantly  my  heart 
Yearns  back  to  Silence,  begging  her  to  show 
The  old  clear  look,  hushed  lips,  free  eyes.    Alas! 
Her  treacherous  throbbing  presence  we  must  flee: 
Must  blur  the  precious  moments,  till  they  pass 
To  leave  me  hurt  by  you.    (And  you  by  me?) 
O  bitter  broken  day  when  first  we  knew 
We  dared  not  dream  together,  I  and  you ! 


AFTER  COPYING  GOODLY  POETRY 

O  WORDS,  Strong  lovely  words,  would  ye  were  mine, 

And  not  another's!  I  am  covetous 

Of  your  slow  cadences  and  flight  divine. 

Would  that  my  verses  cried  and  murmured  thus! 

For  as  my  hand  moved  over  you,  I  knew 
How  beautiful  you  were.    I  loved  you  well, 
As  the  lips  love  rose-petals  cold  with  dew, 
As  fingers  love  the  flutings  of  a  shell,  — 

And  as  the  heart  loves  one  so  very  fair 
She  must  be  always  distant,  like  the  moon. 
So  did  I  love  you,  delicate  verses,  rare 
And  wondrous  with  the  dawn-wind's  throbbing 
tune. 

O  words,  strong  lovely  words!  would  ye  were  mine! 
—  I  know  I  am  too  vainly  covetous; 
For  if  I  die  without  one  singing  sign. 
What  matters  it  while  ye  can  echo  thus? 

IIP 


AFTER  COPYING  GOODLY  POETRY   iii 

And  yet  my  heart  is  faint  and  hot  in  me. 
As  childless  wives  for  stranger-babies  pine, 
My  heart  cries  out,  oh,  very  hungrily, 
Words,  words,  strong  lovely  words,  would  ye  were 
mine! 


THE  HERMIT  ON  THE  DUNES 


Far  away  to  the  South 
Where  the  sea-hill  heaps 
A  gray  gull  wanders, 
A  gray  sail  sweeps. 

Far  away  to  the  South 
Where  the  sky  leans  low 
My  gray  thoughts  journey, 
My  gray  dreams  blow. 

In  my  house  by  the  dunes 
I  have  Silence  for  wife, 
Though  the  long  shore  shudders 
With  the  surf's  drawn  strife. 

Oh,  she  broods  by  my  hearth 
And  she  bends  to  my  bed. 
She  is  strange  as  the  old  Noms 
And  dumb  as  the  dead. 

112 


THE   HERMIT  ON   THE  DUNES  113 

Far  away  to  the  South 
Where  the  sea  heaps  high 
The  gulls  fade  ever, 
The  sails  all  die,  — 
—  Far  away  to  the  South  — 


Over  the  moors,  the  sweet  scorched  moors, 
(Fern  and  bay  and  a  blackberry  brake,) 
The  road  to  the  harbor-town  allures, 
Winding  away  like  a  warm  brown  snake. 
Quivering  up  in  the  hot  blue  light 
The  village  spires  stand  sharp  and  white: 
The  wind-mill  twinkles;  the  harbor  shines 
Over  the  tops  of  the  dwarfed  dune-pines; 
And  the  peak  of  a  sloop  slips  past  the  bar, 
Gleaming  and  still  as  a  sea-bound  star. 

0  huddled  house  on  the  drifted  dune. 

Have  you  locked  in  your  heart  my  right  to  June? 

Will  you  hold  me  here  with  my  head  in  my  hands, 

Staring  across  the  blank  bright  sands, 

Out  to  sea,  and  always  to  sea. 

Where  only  the  gulls'  wings  beckon  me? 


114  THE   HERMIT   ON  THE  DUNES 

I  am  hungry  for  faces,  thirsty  for  words; 

I  am  troubled  with  water  and  weary  of  birds: 

Shall  I  go,  past  the  clattering  gray-winged  mill, 

Down  the  steep  lane  over  the  hill? 

Where  the  poplar  trees  in  the  church-yard  quake, 

And  the  bees  in  the  roses  rumble  and  shake, 

Where    the  sunburned   children   dance    laughing 

down 
To  the  long  wet  wharves  at  the  back  of  the  town? 

—  But  one  gray  house  in  the  lane  is  blind. 
Its  silver  poplars  know  well  the  wind: 
Its  damask  roses  hang  red,  hang  deep. 
But  the  house  is  shuttered  and  fast  asleep. 

I  will  not  go  down  the  crooked  lane. 
I  think  it  is  better  to  wait. 

To  wait? 
Shall  I  then  turn  to  a  boy  again, 
Or  my  mother  stand  by  the  swinging  gate? 

—  Over  the  moors,  the  sweet  scorched  moors, 
(Blackbird,  swallow,  and  butterfly,) 

The  road  to  the  harbor-town  allures, 
But  why  should  I  follow  it?    Ah,  why? 


THE  HERMIT  ON  THE  DUNES  115 

III 

Seven  gulls  sit  screaming  high 
On  her  prow  that  cut  the  sky; 
And  her  name  is  rubbed  away 
By  the  wind-and-water  play; 
While  the  silent  ceaseless  sands 
Hide  her  quick  keel  in  their  hands. 

All  her  goodly  timbers  gape, 
Hurt  and  humbled  out  of  shape, 
And  the  tides  sweep  green  and  cold 
Through  her  hollow-hearted  hold. 

0  tall  ship!  tall  ship!  I  too 

Cast  aground  grow  old  like  you. 

Does  your  heart  beat?    Have  you  breath 

Underneath  those  bones  of  death? 

Do  you  dream?  do  you  awake 

Shuddering  at  dim  day-break, 

Only  to  fall  back  again 

To  the  old-time  shift  of  pain : 

Tide,  and  sun,  and  wind,  and  rain? 

0  tall  ship!  tall  ship!  I  too 
Once  was  high-sea-bold  as  you! 


ii6  THE  HERMIT  ON  TH^  DUNES 

IV 

I  watched  the  endless  guU-wixigs  fade, 
I  dreamed  my  old  dim  endless  things: 
Looked  up,  and  saw  a  gold-haired  maid 
P  jainst  the  sea,  with  arms  Uke  wings 

Spreading  her  grf^^n  scarf  to  the  wind, 
Leaning  and  laughing  to  the  sun.  — 
Ah  me!  her  brightness  made  me  blind, 
Till  I  could  hardly  see  her  run 

>^'^hite-footed  down  the  thin  white  foam, 
Slim-bodied  up  the  sHppery  sands; 
Like  some  wild  sea-maid,  dancing  home 
With  shining  feet  and  flickering  hands. 

—  I  crouched  beneath  the  dune.    She  passed; 
Her  song,  sea-smothered,  and  her  gleams 
Fading  along  the  surf  at  last 

Like  all  the  sun  that  haunts  my  dreams. 

—  The  brave  day  fades,  too  blue,  too  fair. 
Sunset  and  silence  and  the  night.  — 

O  golden  head  and  wild  heart,  where 
Are  you  some  glad  home's  lasting  light? 


THE  H.5:RMIT  on  the  dunes  117 


Low  water  —  low^  water  —  silence  on  the  sea,  — 
Across  the  moors  the  Sunday  bells  ring  warm  and 
drowsily. 

Low  water — low  water — dim  and  smooth  and  pale. 
Across   the   moors   the   windmill   waves   an  idle 
Sabbath  sail.      '* 

Low  water  —  low  water  —  plover  peeping  faint,  — 
Across  the  moors  the  church  ^o  "s  swing  for  sinner 
and  for  saint.  ^- 

Low  water  —  low  water  —  silence  on  the  sea,  — 
Across  the  moors  they  pray  to  God,  while  here  He 
breathes  on  me! 

VI 

Suddenly  I  awoke.    The  wind  was  awake  before. 
He  tramped  on  the  desolate  dunes;  he  battered  and 

beat  on  my  door. 
And  the  sea  rose  up  to  his  shout;  and  mad,  stark 

mad  in  the  night, 
Plunging  and  grappling  and  great  they  staggered 

and  swung  to  their  fight. 


ii8     THE  HERMIT  ON  THE  DUNES 

I  leaned  out  into  the  dark,  to  the  stinging  smother- 
ing wrack; 

But  my  eyes  were  blinder  than  Fear:  I  was  beaten 
and  buffetted  back. 

And  they  struggled  and  stumbled  and  groaned  in 
the  dark  of  the  dunes  till  day, 

Till  the  wind  sank  down  in  the  sand,  and  the  sea 
crept  wounded  away. 

Then  I  slept,  but  my  dreams  went  wild;  for  I  fought 

with  Myself,  and  failed; 
And  I  knew  that  the  stars  were  ashamed,  and  the 

sea-gulls  jeered  me  and  railed. 
Till  I  rose  with  a  terrible  cry,  and  flung  ofif  the 

blood  from  my  face,  — 
"Oh  bitter  and  barren  Self!  Give  place  to  my  soul! 

give  place!" 
And  a  God  flashed  out  of  a  cloud,  and  his  eyes  were 

Hke  strong  kind  flame, 
But  I  woke  as  he  swept  me  a  sword,  and  cheered  me, 

and  cried  my  name,  — 
And  I  thought  that  a  thousand  years  had  been 

tossed  to  Eternity, 
Since  suddenly  I  awoke,  and  the  wind  cried  out, 

and  the  sea. 


THE  HERMIT  ON  THE  DUNES  119 

vn 

I  shall  not  lie  in  any  grave 
Beneath  a  toppling  lichened  stone. 
When  I  grow  weariest,  the  wave 
And  turning  tide  shall  have  their  own. 

I  cannot  wait  for  folk  to  find 

The  shattered  burned-out  wreck  of  me: 

To  trouble  it  with  being  kind 

And  mocking  its  mortahty, 

And  stealing  from  my  helpless  hold 
The  lonely  death  that  I  have  earned: 
To  dare  the  untried  utmost,  bold 
With  the  sea-splendor  I  have  learned. 

I  shall  not  wait  too  long,  at  last; 
But  as,  so  often,  I  have  leapt 
Light-limbed  across  the  surf,  and  cast 
My  sorrows  from  me  as  I  swept 

Out  —  out  —  across  the  clean  wild  foam,  — 
So  then,  I  shall  be  sure  and  free. 
Only,  I  need  not  think  of  home, 
Nor  fear  the  hunger  of  the  sea. 


I20     THE  HERMIT  ON  THE  DUNES 

I  know  it  cannot  be  too  strange 
To  die,  as  I  have  lived,  alone. 
,  —  But  ah,  my  Soul!  where  wilt  thou  range? 
What  tide  can  claim  thee  for  its  own?  — 


THE  SONGS  OF  CONN  THE  FOOL 


I  WILL  go  up  the  mountain  after  the  Moon : 
She  is  caught  in  a  dead  fir-tree. 
Like  a  great  pale  apple  of  silver  and  pearl, 
Like  a  great  pale  apple  is  she. 

I  will  leap  and  will  catch  her  with  quick  cold  hands 
And  carry  her  home  in  my  sack. 
I  will  set  her  down  safe  on  the  oaken  bench 
That  stands  at  the  chimney-back. 

And  then  I  will  sit  by  the  fire  all  night, 
And  sit  by  the  fire  all  day. 
I  will  gnaw  at  the  Moon  to  my  hearths  delight 
Till  I  gnaw  her  slowly  away. 

And  while  I  grow  mad  with  the  Moon's  cold  taste 
The  World  will  beat  at  my  door, 
Crying  "Come  out!  "  and  crying  ''  Make  haste, 
And  give  us  the  Moon  once  more!  " 


122         THE  SONGS  OF  CONN  THE  FOOL 

But  I  shall  not  answer  them  ever  at  all. 
I  shall  laugh,  as  I  count  and  hide 
The  great  black  beautiful  Seeds  of  the  Moon 
In  a  flower-pot  deep  and  wide. 

Then  I  shall  He  down  and  go  fast  asleep, 
Drunken  with  flame  and  aswoon. 
But  the  seeds  will  sprout  and  the  seeds  will  leap, 
The  subtle  swift  seeds  of  the  Moon. 

And  some  day,  all  of  the  World  that  cries 
And  beats  at  my  door  shall  see 
A  thousand  moon-leaves  spring  from  my  thatch 
On  a  wonderful  white  Moon-tree! 

Then  each  shall  have  Moons  to  his  heart's  desire: 
Apples  of  silver  and  pearl; 
Apples  of  orange  and  copper  fire 
Setting  his  five  wits  aswirl! 

And   then  they   will  thank  me,   who  mock  me 

now, 
'^ Wanting  the  Moon  is  he,"  — 
Oh,  I'm  off  to  the  mountain  after  the  Moon, 
Ere  she  falls  from  the  dead  fir-tree! 


THE   SONGS   OF   CONN   THE   FOOL         123 

n 

You  had  better  be  careful  and  make  the  door  faster 
to-night. 

I  know  there  are  Those  round  the  house,  that  are 
hungry  for  good  fire-light. 

If  you  open  the  door,  they  will  thrust  their  long  feet 
in  the  crack, 

And  leap  on  the  threshold,  and  drive  you  all  shiver- 
ing back! 

And  they'll  tease  you  with  curly  queer  tongues  in 

your  faces  like  flame, 
With  winking  their  round  eyes  and  snapping  their 

fingers  and  mincing  your  name. 
Till  you  cover  your  ears  and  your  eyes  and  start 

praying,  while  They 
With  the  cakes  from  the  cup-board,  the  ale  from  the 

jug,  do  away. 

And  One  will  lie  down  in  your  bed,  and  his  feet  will 

be  black 
With  the  bad  lasting  mud  of  the  bogs  and  the  dark 

mountain-track; 


124        THE   SONGS  OF   CONN    THE   FOOL 

And  One  will  go  worry  the  poor  simple  pigs  in  the 

sty, 
In  a  shape  like  a  pig,   silver-skinned,   with  an 

emerald  eye. 

Oh,  I  tell  you,  it's  best  to  be  careful  and  bar  the 
door  faster  this  night ! 

They  are  dancing  out  there  in  the  dark,  but  they 
hunger  for  good  fire-light. 

It*s  a  wonder,  now,  you  to  be  sitting  so  pleasant  and 
still. 

Don't  you  hear  Them  there,  scuffling  and  scram- 
bling across  the  door-sill? 


in 

There  came  two  ravens  to  cany  me  away. 

And  they  flew,  and  they  flew,  all  the  Kvelong  day. 

One  took  me  by  the  head,  and  one  by  the  feet, 
Like  a  strange  stupid  corpse  that  is  borne  down  the 

street. 
One  tickled  all  my  face  with  the  brushing  of  his 

wings, 
While  my  hair  blew  whistling  back  like  a  hundred 

wild  harp-strings. 


THE   SONGS  OF   CONN  THE   FOOL         125 

The  other  pecked  and  snatched  at  my  foot  all  the 

day 
As  they  carried  me  away,  and  carried  me  away. 

They  carried  me  across  from  the  shore  to  the  sea, 
And  that  was  a  trouble  and  a  fear  to  me. 
They  carried  me  across  from  the  sea  to  the  shore, 
And  my  bones  they  were  weary  and  my  soul  it  was 

sore. 
They  carried  me  across  from  the  day  to  the  night, 
And  it  seemed  wrong  to  me  when  I  could  not  see  the 

light. 
They  carried  me  across  from  the  night  to  the  day, 
But  I  had  forgotten  how  to  greet  the  sun  and  pray. 

They  lit  upon  a  pine-tree,  and  the  tree  it  was  high, 
On  a  bare  bald  mountain  that  wore  against  the 

sky. 
They  tangled  up  my  feet  in  the  needles  of  the 

pine, 
And  they  gave  me  cones  for  bread  and  the  bitter 

pitch  for  wine. 
And  they  swung  me  up  and  down  till  I  cracked  the 

brittle  sky, 
But  I  had  forgotten  how  to  shudder  or  to  cry. 


126        THE  SONGS  OF   CONN  THE  FOOL 

The  sun  came  so  close  that  he  troubled  all  my  head. 
He  was  like  a  smelting-furnace,  very  hot,  very 

red. 
The  stars  came  so  close  that  I  longed  to  snatch  them 

down. 
They  were  sharp  shining  ones,  Hke  king's  jewels  in  a 

crown. 

And  the  two  ravens  sat  in  the  dark  pine-tree, 
And  they  jeered  and  they  jibed  and  they  screamed 

loud  at  me. 
The  pine-pitch  smeared  my  mouth  and  the  cones  I 

could  not  eat, 
And  the  needles  pricked  and  wove  round  my  head 

and  my  feet. 
And  I  had  forgotten  how  to  sing  or  to  pray; 
And  I  had  forgotten  if  it  were  night  or  day. 

And  there  I  might  have  stayed  till  it  came  my  time 

to  die. 
But  an  Angel  out  of  Heaven  passed  fl3dng  quickly 

by. 
He  blew  upon  my  feet,  and  he  blew  upon  my  head, 
And  "Wherefore  he  you  here?"  were  the  words 

that  he  said. 


THE   SONGS   OF   CONN  THE   FOOL         127 

Then  I  fell  a  thousand  fathoms,  and  I  flew  a  thou- 
sand miles, 

And  I  feared  as  I  flew  for  the  two  ravens'  wiles. 

But  the  Angel  went  behind,  like  a  goodly  wind  and 
wise, 

And  he  carried  me  across,  as  a  homeward  swallow 
flies. 

Oh,  he  carried  me  across  from  the  night  to  the  day, 
And  then  I  remembered  how  to  greet  the  sun  and 

pray. 
He  carried  me  across  from  the  sea  to  the  shore, 
And  when  I  saw  the  grass,  I  blessed  him  even  more. 
He  carried  me  across,  and  he  left  me,  and  he  went 
Like  a  fog  that  dissolves,  Kke  a  wind  that  is  spent. 

Then  I  walked  upon  my  feet  to  my  own  cabin-door, 
And  there  was  my  good  hound  lying  on  the  floor; 
But  I  heard  the  hearth-fire  sing  and  the  clock  tick 

on  the  shelf 
Before  I  remembered  that  I  was  myself! 

And  I  ate  a  crumb  of  bread,  and  I  drank  a  sup  of 

wine: 
It  was  sweeter  than  the  cones  and  the  evil  pitch  of 

pine: 


128        THE   SONGS  OF   CONN  THE  FOOL 

And  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  began  to  sing  and  pray, 
For  I  thought  that  it  was  best  to  be  thanking  God 

that  day. 
(Oh,  there  came  two  ravens  to  carry  me  away!) 

IV 

You  must  do  nothing  false 
Or  cruel-lipped  or  low; 
For  I  am  Conn  the  Fool, 
And  Conn  the  Fool  will  know. 

I  went  by  the  door 

When  Patrick  Joyce  looked  out. 

He  did  not  wish  for  me 

Or  anyone  about. 

He  thought  I  did  not  see 
The  fat  bag  in  his  hand. 
But  Conn  heard  clinking  gold 
And  Conn  could  understand. 

I  went  by  the  door 

Where  Michael  Kane  lay  dead. 

I  saw  his  Mary  tie 

A  red  shawl  round  her  head: 


THE  SONGS  OF  CONN*  THE  FOOL         129 

I  saw  a  dark  man  lean 
Against  her  garden- wall. 
They  did  not  know  that  Conn 
Walked  by  at  late  dusk-fall. 

You  must  not  scold  or  lie, 
Or  hate  or  steal  or  kill, 
For  I  shall  tell  the  wind 
That  leaps  along  the  hill, 

And  he  will  tell  the  stars 
That  sing  and  never  He: 
And  they  will  shout  your  sin 
In  God's  face,  bye  and  bye. 

And  God  will  not  forget 
For  all  He  loves  you  so. 
He  made  me  Conn  the  Fool, 
And  bade  me  always  know! 


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